Tuesday, 10 November 2009
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Legend - The Best Of Bob Marley And The Wailers (New Packaging)
By Bob Marley & The Wailers
see relatedWandering through the dark woods of my mind....
I find myself embracing the first Canto of Dante today. Big surprise since I just took a midterm and had to write about Canto I when Dante, the narrator, finds himself in the dark woods. His exile from his beloved Florence, bitter sweet love he has for it although, has him contemplating suicide and finds himself in a dark wood confronted with his demons in the form of animals… The wolf being the wolves of Florence, the merchants, and those that exiled him. I find myself back in that wood remembering my rape and assault three years ago.
I was in the dark wood on that fateful day, walking home from Chaos, exiling myself from the craziness of a party gone TO wild for my taste. I was subsequently approached and when I would not answer in a language that these two men could understand, for I was not of Slavic descent, I was attacked, raped and after bashing my head into a tree several times and stomped upon, left for dead. This was the beginning of my journey into the world of being bipolar. For it raised it’s ugly and expansive mind blowing head all at once into my life.. much like Dante’s use of Cerebus and his three heads of horror. I was faced with the horror of my own path, the horror of the path of my mind, and the horror of the actions done to me. On top of it all, I am taking Shakespeare this semester and we just finished Titus Andronicus and with Lavinia’s rape and assault by the Goth Queen’s sons. I at times look down at my hands these days and see in terror that they are not there as they were anymore. They do not work as they should, and they do not guide me as well anymore. I do not have the mind I used to have, it is altered. In someways for good, and in others at a loss of creativity. I find beauty in the image of her hands as beautiful barren branches as the famous movie with Anthony Hopkins and Titus shows her, a beauty. I find her loss much as mine, the loss of her tongue, turned into nothing but a violent offal.
But apparently I am wandering, and the wolf is my own self. I fight against my self and my mind daily. I cannot keep my house the way it should be, to help keep me calm. I find my ability to put together a good critical essay impossible to please teachers. I tend to be so esoteric that they do not get where I am coming from. I tell them I am not simplistic, I do not want to just reguritate what I read, I want to explore what I have learned. But alas with some teachers I must do that with my own time, which I have very little of. With that time I find myself playing a video game or two and losing myself in a world of fantasy, or in a forbidding book not on my reading list, and even in television series, of which I am an addict of many.
But even through the darkness that surrounds me, I see the light that Dante ultimately finds at the end of his journey through hell. Perhaps I will finally find my way through, or at least learn to go hither and through as I please. In control of some sense of my own nature. Her horror is a beauty to some, and I am one of those that find that violence and travisty a beauty, only because I am learning to embrace it as one of my own nature, just one of my paths in the darkness of my woods.
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