the possiblilities of a transcendental society in the modern day

             Societies function in modern day because of the people that populate them.  The people who walk the streets of a city and call them home are what drives a society, the people are its life its breathe, its blood.  A society thrives because of the wonders and possibilities it offers its people. Societies today need not all be the same, some in fact are quite different.  Viva is not your cul du sac society.  In fact it is a silver spoon among a pewter set.  Viva, Wisconsin offers many possibilities its citizens could not find outside of its walls, those special traits are what sets it apart and would allow it to thrive.  Viva, Wisconsin would thrive as a modern day society.
             According to Niccolo Machiavelli all humans are corruptible, swayed easily with the slightest act of bribery.  Humans do in fact have the tendency to claw there way to a position of power using ambition as a dagger to carve their way into the ranks of the powerful.  Such attributions make a true transcendental society hard to imagine.  After all when helping out another one rarely receives something in return for their actions.  People tend to look out for themselves, an every man for himself mentality can run deep in some, which makes again such a society somewhat hard to imagine for some.  Being isolated from technology is also a nightmare for some.  The thought of spending a day without an iPhone has the ability to send some into hysterics, they simply cannot imagine a society were people are not plugged in constantly.
               Humans also have the miraculous ability to prove others wrong.  In times of need, time and time again people will lend a hand to others in need.  While it is true some fall into the void of corruption,many stand for what they believe and do not back down when oppression rises against them.  Those who would live in this transcendental society choose to live there to leave behind such power seeking fools.  Helping out another does in fact give one something, one cannot help but feel touched by lending a helping hand and that feeling over powers the strongest of clenched fisted Ebenezer's.  Many also search out a place to feel untangled from technology and find it a peaceful recluse.  Technology surrounds us smothering us with its many cords and cables and shedding it is often a relief instead of an act of terror.  People who come to a society such as Viva ache to return to a time of family and meaning instead of media and touch screens. 
            Similar societies are not in fact extinct.  Many small New England towns operate in a similar manner.  They are small and reclusive and in touch with nature.  Such a society is not out of the realm of possibility for those who seek it.  Many aspire to reconnect with themselves as a person and with nature.  This aspiration leads many to seek out a town like Viva.  A town such as viva provides a santuary from constant technology and from harsh judging.  That is what will attract people to Viva, and what will allow it to thrive cohesively and smoothly.  What sets Viva apart is the fact that no one person judges nor critiques another for their dignifying differences, such a society would attract many a people.  Such a simple society is sometimes the perfect society which is what makes Viva, Wisconsin possible in the modern day.
               Modern day societies vary extremely across the globe and a society such as Viva while wondrous and different would be quit inside the realm of possibility.  Humans as a species seek out that were they feel safe and a town such as ours offers exactly that to them.  In Viva you can unplug from the cynicism of the rest of the world, reconnect with you, and be who you truly are without fear of judgement.  Such a society would be considered a Utopia among cities, such as a man is a king among men, this city is a jewel, a sanctuary for those who seek it.  These things are what make Viva possible in the modern day.

      
              

The dangers of non conformity in relation to the dead poets society

         In a room full of people clad in black a women in white would surely stand out.  such an act is regarded with certain terror in the eyes of most.  Going against the grain may spark a fire .  The members of the dead poet society learned how hot such a fire can burn.  Conformity such as that seen in the film is a perimeter in which the 'ruling power' feels comfortable. Non conformist often become leaders though most rise up from the 'under rule' population.  Neil was such an individual he rose up and followed his passion against the school and the patriarch of his household.    Rising up against what others believe in is a dangerous ambition and sadly often a deadly one.  The private school Neil attended was extremely uniform, from the students matching attire to the almost identical teaching styles of their professors.  Acting out was simply not done in such a school.  When 'Nuanda' acted out he was punished. Corporeally. Such was the punishment for speaking against the authority. 
        Neils burns from the fire were more severe.  Neils passion was that of acting,  a passion that was seen as pointless as a frivolous endeavor.  Neil saw the first spark when his father demanded that Neil cease acting and quit the play.  Well, the heart wants what the heart wants and Neils heart sung with passion and beat wit the rhythm of the stage.  He told his father of his passion and was told that he was to be promptly enrolled into a military academy to become a doctor, to become what his father wanted of him, part of the conformity of the world.  Neil lost much that night when his father plucked him out of school.  Neil had lost that which was him for it was not what the conformist of the world wanted him to be it was not a common shade of gray but a vibrant blue.  When the new English teacher burst forth upon the scene he was a vivid spot of colour amongst the uniform gray staff.  In the end this is why the 'captain' was picked as a scape goat.  the world tends to look upon non conformist and say they are not one of us, and therefore are not as good, conformity is comfortable and safe whereas non conformity is earth shaking, new, eye opening, and to those black and white conformist terrifying.  Those in the school did not see the beauty of non conformity only that it was different and not what they new. When we get stuck in a rut of uniformity we shun that which is new and brilliant.  Such an act ended with a visionary of a man sacked and a promising adolescent dead.  Such is the danger of non conformity in a place of uniformity.

David Bowie: a space oddity, a true transcendentalist

"ground control to major tom.." David Bowie debuted in the musical world with those five words.  David Bowie is a true modern day transcendentalist in my eye.  Most all transcendentalist are misunderstood or shunned at the beginning.  When David Bowie's Space Oddity hit the shelves it spread like wild fire it connected to the excitement coursing in the veins of America as man stepped on the moon.  The rest of the album however man of words/ man of music was to 'out there' for the majority of the population.  Throughout his musical career David Bowie has sung that which is often outside of the box, David Bowie's style was extremely eccentric and remains so to this day.  David Bowie broke through the shell of what music was at the time and did not care if it was not the 'norm' for it was who he was. This is the mark of a true transdentlaist, David Bowie created music in his own image not the image of the rest of the world which took amazing courage. He showed the world that music need not be boring and all one color he threw out the rule book and created music from his heart. There is nothing more transcendental that.  David Bowies lyrics defiantly strayed from the typical track.   The song Rebel Rebel is a testament to such a statement.  I love David Bowies music and a large part of that adoration comes from the fact that he did not adhere to the rules of music at the time he simply did what he wanted to because it was who he was.   David Bowie is a testament to what i hope to be.  I hope that one day i will look back upon my life and think: i followed my heart and was true to me.  David Bowie is a true modern day transcendentalist  who dresses up the way he wants to in concert who writes the lyrics his heart tells him to and he sings the way he wants to because it is who he is.  He is a testament to true transcendentalism.

Walden Pond Essay: How to Simplify Ones Life in the Modern Age

          
          Simplifing ones life in the modern age is often clumped into the same catogory as a five step program, and ceasing your intake of caffine, and throwing your iphone out your bedroom window.  Alas none of this is nesacary, at least  not in such extremes.  Simplifing your life begins with what every other humble goal in ones life begins: the will to change it.  Simplifying ones life in the modern age requires the will to simplify ones life. Simplifying ones life in the modern age is in fact doable, and no it does not require separation from your precious iPhone. In fact simplifying your life comes from you, it comes from within.  You are simplifying your life and in turn your perspective of the world around you.  If you have the will all you have to do is find you, be who you are, relax, and follow your dreams, simplifying your life truly is simplifying you. To have a simple sweet life you need to simplify oneself, this means find out who you are.  This process can take a lifetime for one is always changing.  The act of finding ones self will in itslf have oneself simplifying your life.
            Breathe.  Slow down and breathe.  Take a day and walk in the park with you, your thoughts and the sound of birds flittering through sunlight trees.  Walk amoungst well trodden dirt pathways  and reflect look into a pond and look into you.  "A lake is the landscape's most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature." (Walden, Henry David Thoreau)  reflecting upon nature leads to reflecting unto oneself which is what brought Henry D. Thoreau to Walden.  Staring into the simplicit beauty one finds te secrets of ones own mind, exploring nature the navigator discovers his own.  What could simplifiy ones life more than reflection in nature and reflection of you.  Shakespear told the world the world is your oyster and Henry D. Throeau tells us to make the oyester included world one of simplistic beauty that reflects the beauty of its creator.

             Create your world in a beautiful image.  The sky is the limit when it comes to your life.  Simplicity is infact not synonamous with boring.  This life is all you have spend it not in a disorginized confusion filled haze, spend it living to the fullest. David Thoreau always said that he went to walden pond because he did not want to die only to find out he had not lived.  This was him living to his fullest live to yours.  "Let us first be as simple and well as Nature ourselves, dispel the clouds which hang over our brows, and take up a little life into our pores. Do not stay to be an overseer of the poor, but endeavor to become one of the worthies of the world." (Walden, Henry David Thoreau)  Do not live through life as a martyer, stare not at the poor, the wrong in your life and sigh with resignment at what is, huff in idignation and step up to make a change.  Take life by the reins soak life up with every pore of your being and endevour to be a king.  This is what H.D. Thoreau preeches to those who read his thaught provocing tales. Be the best one can be, not for your king, nor your mother, or your neighbor, aspire for you.  When you follow your dreams you are following your heart and there  is nothing more simply, purley, you than your heart. 

                              To be simple be who you are.  Aspire and dream for you.  Bend not backwords for others tred forewords so that you can throw them a rope along your path to self fufilment.  Being oneself is an act of true simplicity, it is the pureness it is infact simple personifiend.  For when one is oneself they need not be shroud and occluded in murky fogs of lies and disgueses. "Perfect sincerity and transparency make a great part of beauty, as in dewdrops, lakes, and diamonds." (H.D. Thoreau)  When one is honest and is completly oneself they hold themselves bare for the world and these are those who are the most beautiful.  Be you.  Do not change for another nor besmirch ones name with lies for these will shroud ones true self.  As David Thoreau says the most beautiful diamonds are those which are transparent.  Those with out hidden agendas without self doubts be a diamond in the rough, be you for you no one else and you shall then live in beautiful simplicity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXqhKu30Yd4
                 Simplicity in life is being you, for you.   live life to it fullest soak life in and squeeze out every dop of abrosic nector it has to offer.  Take a moment in this modern age to step back and look, spend a day in the park  in stead of 'catching up with the Cardashians'.  step out of this high tech hollywood world look up at the stars and think of how beautifl the veiw looks not how cumbersome your day might have been.  Look up at the universe and look into you.  No snowflake is alike and yet all are beautiful and all are their own selves like people with their masks pulled back what you see is what you get and nothing is more beautiful.  Take the time to simplifly your life, look at a snowflake, walk through the park and ponder what it means for our life to be simple.  Simplifing your life is simple and is an adventre in its self.   Look up and the night sky and relish the feeling of being incredably small as you stare at the bright lights.  After all, the simplesest things are the most beautiful.

Student Declaration

As students of the Grosse Pointe public school districts, we the students have certain rights. These rights have been repeatedly infringed upon, and we have deemed it necessary to form an alliance together to stand up against the oppressors once and for all to declare our independence. This document will ensure that the students and teachers alike can work in harmony to produce a healthy and fun atmosphere for learning.  Whether the matter is health conditions or pertaining to the respect of the administrators, all of the items listed below have been deemed as basic rights that every student in the Grosse Pointe districts should hold

Teachers should respect students. This goes the same for students respecting teachers of course, but as long as the students are paying due amount of reverence towards the teacher, he or she should receive the same. Stupid questions do not exist. Teachers should not be able to disregard a question ever, even if has already been asked. Students can’t be expected to be listening 100% of the time.  On a related note, students should be allowed to have extra help as needed. Teachers should be willing to give up there lunch hour to assist students, or, at the very least, direct them to another student for help. Another basic right is the right to choose your schedule. Choosing classes is a key right, as this allows students more freedom in choices and helps decide what career path to go down. Having the best technology possible is a clear basic right for students. The school district should be doing everything in their power to provide students with technology that allows them to learn better and faster. A commonly overlooked, but essential, right is the right to have good, clean water. The water fountains at South are completely disgusting and are probably violating some sort of health code. They taste like metal and blood and should be fixed immediately.  As well as all of these other examples, the most important one by far is the right to feel safe in the school environment. Whether it be from internal or external forces, no student should have to go to school feeling like they are in danger there. The administration should always be doing everything in their power not only to keep the students safe, but to also make them feel safe. 

I.                    Instead of thirty six minute lunches, South has to provide an hour and fifteen minutes.  This is students’ only free time of the day, and thirty-six minutes is barely sufficient to eat.  Lunch should be a time to relax, and rushing to finish eating is not exactly relaxing.  It is the only break in the long seven hour school day.  This time should be spent doing whatever students’ wish, whether it’s walking to Farms Market and getting some fresh air, or just relaxing in the commons and socializing with friends.  Whatever kids chose, lunch should be a complete mental break.  A full seventy-five minute period would allow students to return to class rejuvenated and ready to focus, which would increase productivity.  Grosse Pointe South students demand a longer lunch period. 

II.                  Grosse Pointe South must supply laptops to each student for use in school and at home.  In almost every class, note taking is used by teaches.   This is a very effective method of teaching, yet can be time consuming.  Note taking would be a great deal faster if students had access to laptops, and could type their notes on a Word document.  Laptops that students could carry from class to class would also allow internet research to be done in class.   This would undoubtedly increase the efficiency of students in class. Also, because most assignments that require computers are completed at home, the access to them in class could reduce the amount of homework.   And for those students who don’t always have a computer available to them at their house, because of financial issues or having to share with siblings, the ability to take a laptop home would be greatly beneficial.  Students at Grosse Pointe South need to have laptops both in and outside the classroom to increase overall productivity. 

III.               There needs to be one full hour designated for nap taking.  In classes, countless students are always falling asleep because of exhaustion.  Research shows that teenagers need 9-11 hours of sleep to be fully rested, but that number is rarely reached because of many factors.  A demanding schedule, caused by loads of homework, sports, and other activities, leads to many students getting less than the adequate amount of sleep.  Since school contributes to the large quantity of homework that keeps students up late at night, it is only fair they provide an hour to let kids catch up.  An extra hour of sleep every day would lead to increased productivity, mood, and energy of the students at Grosse Pointe South.  This would make for an improved learning environment. 

IV.               Thanksgiving is one of the most popular holidays, and for the most part is loved by all. Many families put a lot of time and preparation into its celebration. Thanksgiving is one of the best holidays of the year to have long periods of family time, and some wish that this did not have to last for only one day. Considering this, it is our suggestion that an entire week of school be given off for its celebration.

V.                  Being as far north as it is, our home state of Michigan can often have very extreme winter weather conditions. The snow can often pile high enough to make even walking on the sidewalk a hassle, and temperatures can easily drop to the point that frostbite is something to worry about. Our district’s reason for having so few snow days is that Grosse Pointe is a walking district, but the majority of South’s students either get a ride from their parents or drive themselves to school. Even the kids that walk often have to deal with extremely low temperatures and very deep snow. Therefore, it is our belief that South should have more days off because of extreme winter weather conditions.

VI.               One of the things that South’s students look forward to the most is holidays. They are an excellent time to relax and take a nice break from school. Because of this, one of the most disappointing things is when there is a holiday but students still have to go to school. Sadly, there are a few holidays out of the year that South does not give even one day off school for. We have the opinion that this should be changed, and that for every holiday, no matter how obscure, at least one day of school should be given off for its celebration.

VII.             The purpose of a school is to provide a child with the best education possible.  Each individual varies from his or her peers.   The option of block scheduling can allow for a more personalized schedule focused on each student’s individual needs.  It allows students to select classes and times that will better stimulate their learning process.  Block scheduling allows for breaks between classes for instance you might have math on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, this allows for breaks which helps students alleviate stress and keeps grades high.  This would also to give students assignments spanning over the break, which can help the student’s time management skills.  Those who have had block scheduling have remarked that the change in scheduling keeps your days from being boring so you tend to be more alert in class. Block scheduling allows for students to be more alert and have classes and schedules that fit their needs thus improving the Childs educations, which is after all, the main goal of the school system.

VIII.          Good grades and an attentive attitude is important to ones high school career.  To maintain grades and stay alert it is important that students come to school with their best mindset, which is why it is important to have breaks on holidays.  Students should have a half-day on Halloween and the day after off.  This will allow students to have a short break to alleviate stress and to enjoy the holiday.   Halloween is a national holiday that should be recognized by the Grosse Pointe Public School System with a day and a half off for the students and staff.  Many students in all three stages of school are out late on the night of October 31, Halloween, and would not be attentive at school the next day.  Giving students a short Halloween break will keep them on track and attentive during school.

IX.                High School is a very important segment of ones school career. It is also one of the more stressful and demanding.  For this reason High School students should not have homework on weekends.  The abolishing of weekend homework will allow for students to rejuvenate over the break and to recharge for the coming school week.  Without homework encumbering the student’s weekend, students will have more time to study for test or review materials covered in class.  This will raise students grades exponentially, students will be more relaxed, attentive, and better prepared for class which will result in higher test scores and grades; which will drastically improve students resumes come time to apply for collegiate study. Abolishing weekend homework will help Grosse Pointe students drastically. 

X.                  School should be adjusted to 4 days a week; the weekend spanning Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.  2 days for weekends simply does not suffice for the amount of homework and rest students need.  The week of a typical high school student is extremely stressful and exhausting. The weekend is needed to recover.  Teachers tend to assign more homework on the weekends, though, knowing students will have more time.  This leads to the whole weekend being spent completing schoolwork.  Weekends are needed to relax and rejuvinate, and doing homework all weekend is neither of those things.  The weekends are also a sacred time to be spent with family or friends, seeing as though during the week, students are simply too busy.  Three days for a weekend would allow time for schoolwork, as well as friends, family, and rest. 

We, the students of Grosse Pointe South High School, hereby declare our independence from the Grosse Pointe Public School System. We only asked that we receive the treatment that we by our rights deserved, the treatment that we were neglected when a part of the Grosse Pointe Public School System. If we don’t receive our independence, there will be severe consequences. We may be peaceful and civil; we may boycott classes or organize a sit out on the lawn. Protest what we believe to be a corrupt establishment.  Hold strong to what we want and receive it in a peaceful manner. Or, we may be violent, vandalize the school. Rip doors off their hinges and graffiti the hallways. Break the windows of every educational institution, and yell blood curdling battle cries of freedom that even the bravest soul could not bear to hear. Though we are only students, we will crash board meetings. We will disrupt the very foundation that this educational system is based upon and wreak havoc among the board members, never faltering in doing so until our demands are met. Planting fear in every adult’s heart, because independence is a basic right; all students are naturally born with freedom in their blood. The students’ actions to take control of their independence are unpredictable yet organized, extreme yet understandable. It is best that the students receive independence and no other actions are put in place to stop the progression. By this time, there are no measures that can be taken to reconcile both the students and educational program. In no way can the ties between the two be bonded back together, and form a united assembly once again. Independence has spread to the very heart of the matter and no act can be taken to stop it. Independence will rise, and the Grosse Pointe School System should be prepared to fall.

crucible epiloge

The soft rain pelted the earth collecting on the brims of men's hats and sending children scurrying home to warm hearths and hot meals.  A solitary man ignored such summons of the heart and continued his work alone having shooed off the other men to fill their stomachs with stew under sound roofs.  He continued to move the soft earth one shovelful at a time.  Though he knew it was there the man could no longer see the wooden box buried deep in the earth’s arms.  Tears no longer joined the rain as he dug, the ability to cry lost behind a veil of bitter numbness and resignment. Casting his gaze to the cloud shrouded sky he pondered what God thought, what he made of this brutal, shameful casting away of life. 

The man honored the dead in the only way he knew hoping this small act would help heal the raw ache cast of Salem-an ache he himself felt within him buried beneath his pulse.  They did not deserve to die and surly not in this ghastly way.  He went each day and buried them in modest wooden boxes so that they may have this small shred of peace,  sometimes other men of the town joined him and they worked in somber silence, grunts of labor and the music of a spade hitting unyielding earth the only sounds to touch their ears.  Occasionally tears would spill  from one of the men's eyes onto the recently turned earth as one buried a neighbor,  a friend, a wife, sometimes you would catch a man holding his shovel,  staring off, his eyes not seeing and you know he too feels as haunted. 

The rain water collecting on the brim of the man’s hat spills over jarring him from his melancholy.  He picks up his shovel and resumes his work.  Self-pity is a not a luxury this man permits himself, considering himself lucky for the ignorance of the faces of those who lay in the boxes beneath the earth.  When the graves are finished his would kneel down on the soft earth and offer up a prayer to these poor souls.  The rain continues to fall in cold sheets.  The man pats down the freshly turned earth with the blunt end of his spade.  Walking to the edge of the forest he plucks a single flower, watching as the rain water cascades down the soft petals of the purest white the man has ever seen, the sight of something so beautiful following such an atrocious event making his heart clench.   He lays the lily upon the grave.  He sends out his prayer his knees in the damp earth as his prayer spills from his lips the emotion behind them unmistakable.  The man stands to leave, turning at the last second to say a final word.  Goodbye John, May you now find your peace.  Then, standing by the grave of John Procter the cold rain coating his soul in sorrow, Reverend Hale allowed himself to cry. 

Light streamed out from the windows.  Being this many towns over provided the man with rare and precious anonymity.  The door opens before he has time to touch the metal with his numb fingers, the light and warmth of the inn spilling over his dampened boots.  He tipped his hat to the gentlemen walking out and stepped into the fire lit atmosphere.  The inn was fairly quite a few sitting at tables basking in the fires warmth before they would stumble into beds dreaming of their far off destination.  Choosing a table in the corner the man removes his dampened hat, his gaze falling upon the flames dancing in the hearth.  The terrors of yesterdays springing forth behind his closed eyes.  Every moment was filled similar as to this.  Before the man would take such a time to watch the flames and think, like these other lucky men, of his destination. Now however, the faces of those accused danced behind his eyes such as the flames did, trapezing in the stone hearth.  Rare now are  moments of fleeting peace and serenity for the man.  Reverend Hale wondered if peace would befall him again.  He felt restless, the need to make peace rustling within him like dry leaves in the fall.  He made his amends in the only way he knew.  But was it enough? how was he supposed to right this great wrong.  The church was supposed to be the infallible word, the truth personified through ink in the pages of the bible.  Alas how could the Gospel, how could the holy father condone this.  He was pulled out of his musings by a young girl, not yet fifteen, who lay down a platter offering him a shy smile.  He pulled forth  some coins out of his pockets and then the girl was walking away.  So young, so innocent, and the same age as some of the girls were in Salem.  Older than some of the girls in fact. His still numb fingers grasped the pewter spoon spooning hot stew into his mouth with controlled mechanical motions his mind still on the girl the same age, and how those girls in Salem had ruined a town.  How had the church not seen this, not stopped it?  Part of him yearned to the church, but then who would believe some sad once minister.  You are a broken minister.  John's words still echoed in Hales head.  Those words held true Hale mused he was not able to stop this but perhaps he could still do more.  People needed to see the harsh lessons these last couple of days had thought him ,perhaps their would be people willing to listen, people whom he could touch could save.  A selfish venture if he ever heard of one, for deep down Reverend Hale pondered and knew in part he wished to spread word to heal his own ache.  Gazing  into the fire he saw truth in its flames. Reverend Hale would never be free of the Salem witch trials. 

    The man stepped off of the podium.  The paint on the walls was peeling, occasionally a strip would fall, a feather dancing in the stifling summer heat.  The man smiled as the people left but it did not reach his eyes.  His smiles rarely did anymore.  Dust billowed beneath the mans feet as reverend Hale walked down the road.  The sun shone down upon his hat as he approached his horse.  The mare recognized him and the man re paid him with a lump of sugar.  This mare had been with him for a long time.  She had been the one after all who he had ridden out of Salem on.  Her eyes held peace still.  A peace he longed for, a peace he could not begrudge her for.  Still that longing for the ignorance his mare had beat within him still.  Looking over his shoulder as he slung the leather bags upon his horse, he could barley see the small white church he had been speaking at.  Preaching not only love of god but love of fellow man.  A love he hoped would never be soiled again with greed.  A hope he knew belonged to the novice inside his heart.

     The sun had set by the time his horse slowed to a steady gallop and by the time he slid off the worn leather, the stars were shining down on him, whispering in his ear.  He walked along side his horse the night shrouding him like a cloak.  He walked down the dark well trodden road, pinpricks of light marking houses.  He slowed as he passed a field. A Field he realized he knew.  The man stopped and stared at a house in the distance, all fields look alike he mused he must be mistaken.  The man continued onward slightly more wary as he walked down the night clouded road.  Reverend Hale came to a stop as a light voice danced over the field chiding a child for spilling creme.  Reverend Hale knew that voice.  He had heard it waiver with fear scream with anguish and stand up for itself.  The voice of Elizabeth Proctor brought back many memories, and none of them pleasant.  He could see her children through the window, her youngest, a girl, wiping up the spilled cream.  She looked to be four or five years old he mused as an older boy picked her up and tickled her sides.  He could hear his voice talking to his sister. Gabriella, was her name.  The angel that led the kings to the cradle of the lord.  A fitting name.  Reverend Hale watched with sad eyes as the girl, a child who never had the chance to meet her father,was taught how to set the table by the older boys.  Elizabeth walks in the room carrying a pie and the children cheer.  Elizabeth smiles though reverand Hale notices that, a mirror to his own, the smile does not reach her eyes.  A man walks in he waches as he sits the children smile up at him refering to him as uncle not father.  He had heard rumor that Elizabeths husband was more of a cousin to her than a martial figure, but the reverned has not the heart to put stock in rumors.  He wonders if they think of him, John, often do they see this man sitting and remember the strong voice of John Proctor sweeping the room?  He takes a step towards the house, then thinks better on it and steps back.  Should he knock upon the knotted wood? He imagines Elizabeth opening the door the smile dissapearing as she pears into the night and sees the face of this man.  A man whom last saw her on the day her husband was carted to the gallows.  Hale looks back to his horse then back at the house.  Saying goodbye to the smoke curling from the chimney and the smell of bread, reverand hale slips back upon his saddle and trots onward into the night the chatter of the Proctor family fading away as he rides.

Crucible essay.

         When i was five my cousins and i would sit on the couch, one cousin per cushion, and we would pack our bags and pretend we were on an airplane, we'd fly past Paris and Rome occasionally hitting some turbulence or losing a passenger through a loose emergency door, for arriving at our destination did not matter for we would all hop on the plane again screaming as we plunged through the clouds. We never in-fact left that basement couch but it need not matter for we had imagination and that was all we needed. Imagination is a marvelous thing.  Imagination can however, can run rampant as we see in Salem depicted by Arthur Miller's The Crucible.  The people of Salem however were not flying through clouds as thick as cotton candy, but seeing the devils mark upon those they knew.  Imagination was careening Salem far past the boundaries of reason.  The entire town took part but those who drove the van as it were, were none other than John Proctor, the Putnams, and Abigail Williams.  These proprietiers of imagination were at the center of the storm shredding Salem.
         Despite the purity of his heart John Proctor was central to the Salem witch trials in regards to the Crucible.    Abigail lusted after John, and in the dark recesses of her mind she fancied herself in love with him.  Abigail took drastic action to have John, all of Abigail's actions somehow led back to John Proctor.  John does share some of the blame;  when Abigail confessed to him he should have told Reverend Hale straight away, yet he was blinded by his emotions and that thought fled as he pushed Abigail away his emotions guiding his actions.  Abigail, equally blinded, divulged to John a secret that could have saved the town. "Oh posh! We were dancin' in the woods last night, and my uncle leaped in on us.  She took fright is all (Miller 21,22)."  Abigail has just admitted Betty and Ruth's illness had naught to do with witchcraft.  Perhaps if the noble John Procter had not let emotion cloud his judgement he could have halted the impending train of lies and trickery Abby was formulating.
          Others who were involved had more sinister intentions.  Thomas Putnam and his wife were the stereotypical white picket fence couple of Salem,  a couple who has dark secrets twisting in their minds; shadows on their souls.  A woman besmirched by jealousy and a man clouded by greed.  Goody Putnam's mind warps  around the death of her seven children.   She even does the unthinkable to try and see who murdered her precious children.  "Parris:  Goody Ann, it is a formidable sin to conjure up the dead!  Mrs. Putnam: I take it on my soul, but who else may surely tell us what person murdered my babies?  Parris horrified: Women (Miller 15,16) !"  Goody Putnam admits to attempting to conjuring the dead the only true 'witchcraft' Salem sees in the novel.  However this is not brought up again, it is buried even when others are being sentenced for witchcraft when the closest thing to it is the actions of Goody Putnam.  Even in Puritan times it pays to have friends in high places.  Driven with jealousy over the fact that the good willed Rebecca Nurse has not had to lay down a child nor grand-baby ahead of their time she accuses her of the unthinkable.  "Francis: For murder she is charged!  Mockingly quoting the warrant: For the marvelous and supernatural murder of Goody Putnam's babies (Miller 71)."  Along side her Mr. Putnam guides his daughters accusing finger towards his neighbors for those accused must sell their land and who better to buy it than the richest man in the town? "Abigail: Envy is a deadly sin, Mary (Miller 115)."  This advice would best be told to the Putnams, two people whose envy unraveled a town.
               She who is most responsible cannot be disputed.  There are no fanciful debates to be had, nor intellectual arguments over the most influential player of this deadly game.  None will deny that Abigail Williams is the eye of the hurricane; the driving force behind the storm that destroyed Salem.  Perhaps it was her lust towards John Procter, or her envy towards Elizabeth Procter, maybe even that twinge of madness that danced behind her dark eyes.  Every instance of trickery every sin shrouded lie leads back to Abby.  "Abby: She made made me do it! She made Betty do it ( Miller 43)!" Abby ricochets the blame on to Tituba in order to save herself.  This is a recurring theme in the novel,  Abby is quick to accuse those who, however innocent, that get in her way.  "Procter: Who charged her?  (referring to his wife) Cheever:  Why Abigail Williams charge her (Miller 73)." Abby strives to swipe Goody Procter off the Earth and claim her place as John's wife.  She does not care who she hurts.  She soaks up the attention like a sun.  Without her initial accusation the Witch Trials would never had occurred.  She strives to be the center of attention,  all is right in her world as long as all eyes are upon her.  The fact Abigail Williams is the driving force behind the Salem Witch trials is indisputable.  If there is an accusing finger follow the arm and surely the hand that accuses is the hand of Abigail Williams.
               John Proctor, Mr.Putnam and his wife, and Abigail Williams dealt out the cards of this twisted game.  Each had a part, a role to play, and thus blame falls on to these characters.  Our actions speak louder than our words they say, well the actions of the aforementioned people do not speak to us, they scream to us with the force of a train.  As Atlas holds the sky these three hold the responsibility for being key players, each for their own actions, desires, and devices.  These people did not nudge Salem into the dark recesses of hell, they shoved it in without preamble.  Each by different means and for different reasons,  these are the people most responsible for storm of Salem.

Crucible post two

       According to Dante those who partake in heresy spend eternity in the eighth circle of hell, would you claim to beilieve in witches to avoid this fate? Lying is a sin and yet we all partake in the practice. Sometimes we do so with foul intentions and other times we lie for self preservation. We often lie to avoid ridicule or persecution from our peers. The concept of lying is deep seeded in human nature. We lie to survive. In Salem this is what dozens of women had to do. We all like to think that we would stand tall and deny that which is not true but with the threat of hanging looming over your head you would find it surprisingly easy to lay aside your pride. You can see how John Proctor struggles with his sense of self pride and self preservation when asked about his belief in witches. "Procter- he knows this is critical, and is striving against his disgust with Hale and with himself for even awnsering." (Miller, 69). This shows us precious insight into the mind of John Proctor. We have know from the start that John is a leader and this drives home that point. He feels it is degrading to have to awnsner Mr.Hale and furthermore disgusted with himself for claiming to believe in this foolishness even though he believes naught. I Admire Elizabeth Proctor for holding her head high an standing by what she believes. I hope I have some of her courage if faced with such a situation. Lying or denying what you believes is never easy and not always right but in Salem it may just save your life.

Crucible Post One

               At the start of the novel the power in Salem rests with the minister, Parris.  In puritan times the Church was the supreme power.  the church also was adept at the wielding the great weapon of the fear of man. The Church had the supreme authority to grant and or deny one salvation - quite a power indeed.  Back to the matter at hand, the town of Salem.  Parris minister of Salem,  wields power of the people of Salem,  they look to him for advice and prayer,which may not resemble our idea of power but in this time period, people coming to you and standing behind you is quite important.  people look to him, we see this in action when Tom Putnam asks a favour of Parris, "They're thirsting for your word, Mister! Surely you'll pray with them."  In this excerpt we see the comfort the people of Salem drive from their minister.  Another person who wields power in this town is John Proctor.  A natural leader people flock to John Proctor for he is one that secretes security and leadership, he walks around, appearing to the village as one with a self assured air.  For those who are not sure of much in their lives, they cling to him, this man who seems to know what is right and what is what in this troublesome time.  This gives John Proctor power of the people of Salem as well.  Alas as the act comes to a close it is neither man who holds the power in Salem.  In this small town power is people standing behind you, spreading your word, as one of my classmates said, 'Abigail is the puppet master of  these girls' In Salem power is that he who holds the power is the one whose long fingers manipulate the strings.  At the end of Act one the power rests with the girls.  It is the girls whom all eyes are trained on,  their ears soaking up the tales that spill forth effortlessly from there lips like parched sponges.  In haste to be at the center to create a name for themselves, to in turn wield the power (for it is my belief to these men 'do good' is truly at the bottom of the list) the men drink up their lies as one would a summer punch.  Now to whom do the men turn to for answers?  Who are they begging, relying on for information? The women of Salem.  These girls, the ones pointing the fingers and calling names are the ones twitching the strings in Salem.  Wether the men are aware of it or not, the power has indeed shifted.  The women are calling the shots, in this strict male dominated society the women find they are not so powerless anymore.  It is remarkable what a few haste words and pointed fingers can do to a town that is broiling in sin, and looking for someone to blame.  The women of Salem are powerful indeed.

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God Follow Up Post

Today's world differs greatly from the days of the seventeen hundreds when Jonathan Edwards gave his earth shattering sermon.  The world is a home to many different religions, not all of them believing in hell.  I still believe this speech would have the power to start a world wide controversy if it had been given for the first time today.  I imagine many would think it preposterous nothing but slander and empty words while another vast majority would find it standing room only come next Sunday.  This sermon has the power to shake the world and still would today,  this sermon spooked me and i am far from a highly religious puritan.  After all who wouldn't be spooked by someone telling you point blank that god is waiting to kill you he detests you and might kill you at any moment and send you to hell, sorry but that's the way it is.   I, personally would be pretty freaked out.  After all one cant help think maybe hes right, maybe i am going to hell.  No matter your religious affiliation this sermon is powerful enough to make one think, if not place that small seed of doubt and fear in your mind.

"Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" Post

       In the mid Seventeen hundreds Jonathan Edwards struck the fear of god into New England.  Nothing scares a good  puritan more than the threat of stripping them of their salvation.  Ignorance is bliss, and to Jonathan Edwards ignorance  is the belief that denying eternal salvation is Gods last resort.  Edward argues that God would not 'loose any sleep at night' over casting thou into hell.  if someone were to ask you for a dollar (the dollar in this scenario representing eternal salvation) you would weigh your decision on how close you are to this person, do they deserve this dollar or have they simply not expressed dire will to please you and work for the dollar.  Either way the decision is not one that you will ponder for weeks after.  Edwards proposes that this is the same for how God feels regarding the hurtling of sinners into eternal damnation.


       Italy read open mouthed as the terrors of hell, spelled out like never before, poured from Dante Aleghiri’s  Inferno in the fourteenth centenary.  I imagine their terror was akin to that felt by the colonists when Jonathon Edward’s warned New England of the wrath of an angry God.  Dante tells us of rivers of boiling blood, those who were not baptized in life now wander aimlessly through Limbo in death.  Those who partook in lust in life are forever joined with another,  and those who threw away ‘
God’s gift of life’ reside as harpies in the forest of suicides.  I presume that Jonathon’s speech run parallel to the words of Dante. I believe what had the colonist scrambling for salvation was Jonathans’ descriptions of hell.
        

Descripitive Post

The only constant in the ocean is blackness, in depths such as these.  Water so frigid you can feel it seeping into your pores covering your bones in a layer of fine frost. if you were to walk these wooden halls broken down and weathered by the water they would surely tell you a fine story.  The blackness would be infinite your hands in front of your face lost in the inky depths.  Numb fingers grasp the solid tube of a flash light illuminating a single path in the water.  The water seems to be in a competition with northern Russia for the coldest temperature.   The cold takes away your breath the knives of winter embedding in your appendages.  Your pulse fills you, a back beat of life, you feel in in the tips of your slow moving fingers spurned by the water pressure. the flash light illuminates the murky water, leaving shadows spilling forth from the darkness threatening to swallow you.  The silt swirls in the water as your hands grasp the handle of an old mirror, its cold surface slick with algae.  The algae clings to the mirror soft and slimy reminding one of days spent in the community lake that was warmed only by the summer sun.  Theres no sound this far down, you can however hear the silence louder, than any scream, as you frozenly move through the wreaked ship.  the wood is caked with algea coral growing around its edges adding  splash of colour to the desolate ship when your flashlight happens apon it.  Your roaming fingers lock around a small cold object buried beneath the fine silt.  Your fingers slide over the slick surface,the slime of the algae coating your pulsing finger tips your hindered eyes making out a weak discription before the flash light flickers and dies the frigid darkness blanketing you once more.

Expectations in Honors American Literature

The expectation in Honors American Literature is that one puts forth ones best effort.

            In any class staying organized is crucial.  The same goes for Honors Am. Lit.  It would not do to always be losing ones papers.  Again, here the key to staying organized is having the will to be organized.  Organization, like everything else in life, takes effort, binders do not organize themselves.  This will ensure that assignments, homework, and projects are turned in on their respective due dates.  If one is unorganized and missing assignments and project they cannot hope to succeed in this class, or any other for that matter.  If one has the will to turn in papers and be organized then it is certainly an attainable goal.  It’s all about having the will to do it.

             Interaction with the world around oneself is key to not only survival but is also a key part in succeeding in honors American literature.  Engaging with your class and teacher is prudent to thrive in this class.  Put oneself out there and talk with the class if one puts all there effort into connecting with the teacher and class they will have an easier time understanding the subject criteria and the homework.  If there is something one does not understand in this class it would be prudent to put forth the time and effort into contacting the teacher and or a fellow classmate.  Excuses have no place in honors American literature.  They also should prove irrelevant for if you put forth a hundred percent in this class, for one will have no need for excuses.  Connection to your teacher and class are simple with a little effort on the part of oneself.

            Perhaps the most import use of ones effort in this class is the effort put into ones writing.   What oneself writes is going to define them, it’s a specific standard set to oneself that one must thrive to not only live up to, but improve.  The only way to improve ones writing is wanting to improve it.  After all one can only go forward from this point on.  This class is a chance to vastly improve ones skills in literature and reading.  Seize it.  If one wishes to be better one must make the effort.  In this class one is expected to put forth a hundred percent, to want to excel, and that is certainly achievable with some effort.  They say all someone can ask from oneself is their best effort.  This class deserves and expects nothing less.  If one puts forth the effort one can reach for the stars, or at least a fantastic paper in American literature. 

            

About ME

           How do u start a blog about oneself? its not a bad idea, a nice place to keep track of all my good qualities i suppose .  I suppose I'll start at the beginning.   My parents named me Mary because they have no imaginations clearly, my birthday is February 27 and I'm fifteen.  For family i have a mom and no siblings and a dad and a step mom.  i found out around age six that contrary to Cinderella not all step mothers are rich and evil. ( and I'm still suspicious of that whole fairy godmother one too..)   Who would've thought.  i may not have siblings but i have three fabulous cousins. Rachel is the oldest she is sweet and smart and goes to U of M. Sarah the nest oldest is a year above moi in school and is hilarious. and loud.  Haley the baby is a year behind me in school and five inches taller. she goes to ligget and is super smart. i love them all including their mom and dad, my aunt Katy and uncle Tim.

           As for me, I'm a sophomore which i am learning has three o's not two. Spelling never was my strong suit.  i love to read, mostly the fantasy genre although one of my all time favorite writers, Jodi Picoult is a fiction writer.  Handle with Care and Sing You Home are probably my two favorites so far.  i love hp and well most books i read.  I play flute in the school band and i love it playing its.. it's amazing i actually prefer playing sad songs were you can pour your emotion into the music. i truly love music in any form, preferably on my flute or ipod.  Those who know me know i almost constantly have headphones in one ear.  Music expresses that which we cannot say or when we don't know how odds are someone has in a song.  Music keeps me sane.  

              I love doing that which lets me be creative. Another thing i love to do is cook.  My dad and i have been making messes in the kitchen together ever since it was the two of us in our house on Maryland (great name that)  We would have P parties and everything we ate that night would start with the letter p.  Not surprisingly often it was homemade pizza. Once my father tossed it into a mini beach scene we had set up from his friends cottage we would visit-not our best pizza.  My dad and i quickly learned we can not toss pizza in the air and expect to catch it anymore than Paula dean is about to switch to margarine. Another thing about my dads side of the family: the forget nothing.  I'm not kidding you,  one year say twenty five years ago (and this is one of there really recent memories) they had a 'Christmas brunch faux pax' so to speak.  Every year we have a fabulous brunch (gotta love red eyed gravy)  but this particular year Christmas landed on a sunday so they figured no one would show.  Well everyone showed up hungry for a brunch and there were five boxes of krispy cremes from the corner store. my grandmother still shudders at the memory.  Expressing my self has always been important to me and cooking helps me do that.  

             Pens. I love pens. I almost always have a pen in my pocket and a doodle on  my hand.  I have recently started to write.  i find that writing short stories helps me sort out my thoughts the same way keeping a journal helps others.    I could never keep a journal, for a number of reasons.  First and foremost i would  reread it and think 'this sounded much more eloquent in my head.' or i look back and find my self thinking 'i want to read about your problems!' and then i realize i wrote them and perhaps i have some mental problems that should be addressed.  often i write sad stories which I'm sure makes it sound like I'm sad 24/7 when simply its the most soul searching material to write.  I enjoy drawing, thought i was fair then i met a girl named Malvina (the girl has some serious talent) and was blown away by her artwork, i put myself down a few categories but I'm more of a writer anyhow.  When you write you get to create a world it's amazing. (and then you get writers block and want to hurl your world down the stairs)

            I hope that gave you a little insight into me and hopefully you are not now terrified of me. I could get used to this blogging thing. good night people of the world <3