“We do not heal the past by dwelling there; we heal the past by living fully in the present.”
Marianne Williamson
“I’m brave, but I’m careful.”
Goofy (Lonesome Ghosts)
“I didn’t set out to be the first openly gay athlete playing in a major American team sport. The most you can do is stand up for what you believe in. Being genuine and honest makes me happy.”

Jason Collins

Truer words have not been spoken.

It’s amazing how some things can just instantly transport you to your “happy place.” For me, it’s water.
 Two weeks ago I visited the small town of New Bern, NC, where Nicholas Sparks grew up. As I listened to the seagulls squawk at each other, I could physically feel myself relax—truly relax—for the first time in months. The effect must have been obvious because the friend that I was visiting leaned over and said, “you’re in your happy place, aren’t you?”
Yes. I was in my happy place.
Perhaps it’s because of all the memories I have associated with the water and the homesickness I feel… Hiking around rivers and on ocean bluffs. Camping. Kayaking varius ocean straits and rivers. Sailboating. Intertubing. My grandmother’s house. Searching for crabs and sea anemones in the tide pools. Dancing in the moon-snail’s geysers.  Skipping school to go picnic at the beach. This was my childhood.
Or perhaps it’s the undulating nature of the water that lulls me into it’s white noise and invites me to just listen to the sounds of the environment—the squabbling birds (and children), the water slapping the shore, and the contented breathing of nearby loved ones. 
It’s possible that distance in time and space has romanticized my view of the beach—I distinctly remember saying that I hate beaches because they smell and get you dirty—but as it stands now, I long to return to the beach (and other bodies of water).

It’s amazing how some things can just instantly transport you to your “happy place.” For me, it’s water.

Two weeks ago I visited the small town of New Bern, NC, where Nicholas Sparks grew up. As I listened to the seagulls squawk at each other, I could physically feel myself relax—truly relax—for the first time in months. The effect must have been obvious because the friend that I was visiting leaned over and said, “you’re in your happy place, aren’t you?”

Yes. I was in my happy place.

Perhaps it’s because of all the memories I have associated with the water and the homesickness I feel… Hiking around rivers and on ocean bluffs. Camping. Kayaking varius ocean straits and rivers. Sailboating. Intertubing. My grandmother’s house. Searching for crabs and sea anemones in the tide pools. Dancing in the moon-snail’s geysers.  Skipping school to go picnic at the beach. This was my childhood.

Or perhaps it’s the undulating nature of the water that lulls me into it’s white noise and invites me to just listen to the sounds of the environment—the squabbling birds (and children), the water slapping the shore, and the contented breathing of nearby loved ones. 

It’s possible that distance in time and space has romanticized my view of the beach—I distinctly remember saying that I hate beaches because they smell and get you dirty—but as it stands now, I long to return to the beach (and other bodies of water).

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.”

Marianne Williamson

This quote has gotten me through a lot since I first heard it in middle school

Uncle Dave Macon Days—an Ethnomusicology Report

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A mere twenty-minute bike ride from MTSU’s campus exists a quaint historic center called Cannonsbugh Village. During the month of June, Cannonsburgh (“a historic area established as a 1976 U.S. Bicentennial project“) doubles as the location for the internationally known Uncle Dave Macon Days Old Time Music and Dance festival (Owen and Weiler). According to the official website for the festival, Uncle Dave Macon Days began in July of 1978 and was organized by “the late pharmacist Jesse Messick and David ‘Ramsey’ Macon, a grandson of Uncle Dave” as a “banjo pickin’ contest” on the side of the Rutherford County Courthouse. The idea was that it would be a fun way to pay homage to the man who essentially created the genre of county music. Since its conception, the small banjo contest has blossomed into “one of the premier traditional music and dance festivals,” is home to three national championship competitions, and has over $10,000 in prize money to award annually.

At the invitation of banjo player Daniel Rothwell’s Mom, Deana, I attended a press conference for the festival. At Dr. Shearon’s recommendation I had contacted Deana previously asking to be told if there were any upcoming events and she gave me a 24 hour notice of this “small, semi-private event in Cannonsburgh.” So the next day I grabbed my bike helmet and proceeded to navigate the rather dangerous maze of roads to get to Cannonsburgh. Due to not being able to cross Broad Street, I ended up arriving twenty minutes after the official start.

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By the time I had walked up to the gazebo, Daniel Rothwell was already playing banjo and singing with a couple other, older, men. The band, which had never rehearsed together or played as a unit before, consisted of a bassist, a violinist who doubled on vocals occasionally, and a guitarist. There was no percussion other than the clogging/buck dancers. The dancers would run on when they wanted to and leave when they were finished.

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The ages of the dancers ranged from eighteen to Thomas Maupin (mid-70s). Thomas Maupin, a famous buck dancer, is Daniel Rothwell’s grandfather and mentor who believes that the best way to be taught to dance or play is self-teach. This way, a unique style is developed and the musician or dancer internally feels the music. The youngest dancer, Greer Kimbell is senior at the local Blackman High School. Greer, primarily an ”excellent” competitive fiddle player (according to Thomas Maupin), joined Thomas Maupin frequently, and occasionally soloed. Her style of dance, unlike Thomas Maupin, was more trained—“clogging” as Thomas Maupin described it when I interviewed him later that afternoon. In addition to dancing and being a competitive fiddler, she also “jams” with Daniel and other musicians during various festivals. Outside of arranged events, she also is a “musician on call” at the VA hospital. While music will always be a part of her life—and “an integral part of the community—and the Old Country Time scene is a community in and of itself”—Greer plans on pursuing nursing at a technical school in Tennessee. This seems to be a common theme among the people I met here. Of all the prominent people of the Old Country Time scene, only Daniel Rothwell and Thomas Maupin—and later, guests Ricky Skaggs and his wife Sharon White—were professional musicians as far as I could tell. I think this speaks to a large degree about how Old Country Time and Bluegrass remains a true folk music; these genres, descended from Europe when the country was being formed, are still used meaningfully by the local culture to bond the community together.

Instead of having a particular set of music, Daniel would take audience suggestions and call out what key, and play the melody as the band improvised around him. As a member of Seattle’s jazz scene, I was amazed at the similarities of a jazz combo and this jam session. Both genres included with musicians collaborating with musicians they hadn’t necessarily worked with before, improvising off the key and melody, and playing in a community-centered way. The primary difference, in my opinion, was that this had no pretentious “class” vibes to it, but rather a “good ol’ family friendly” feel. While jazz has lost it’s roots as a working-class music, Old Country Time and Bluegrass has embraced their history and striven to keep the tradition alive in the community.

Some of the traditional songs that Daniel and the band played included: “Ida Red,” “Chereokee Shuffle,” “Hand Me Down my Walking Cane” (played by Uncle David at the Grand ol’ Opry with his son), “Pretty Paulie” (a ballad from England that occasionally addressed the audience directly (“ladies and gentlemen, I bid you farewell”), “Johnny Don’t Get Drunk” (with cloggers), “Rattler” (included percussive shouts and yells that seemed to emulate animals), and “Run, Jimmy, Run.” Deana Rothwell told me to shout out the latter song, and proceeded to fall into a giggle fit when I did. Daniel then, with a look, introduced the song by saying that “it used to be very popular in this neck of the woods,” prompting more laughter.  Seeing I was confused, Deana leaned over and told me that this song used to be called “Run, Nigger, Run.”  “Run, Jimmy, Run” was performed with the violinist echoing key phrases for effect. What I found particularly interesting about this name change is that it shows societal change can affect even traditional songs, and conversely, traditional songs can take new meanings in new social lights.

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After the songs wrapped up, the emcees introduced various people in attendance—ranging from people on the city council to award winners to families that are simply historically a major part of the community. Throughout each presentation, the Christian background of the festival was either implied and explicitly stated. To paraphrase, the community member who offered the benediction prayer for the festival said that it was through music that people’s souls can be touched in a way no pastor could—this festival is a way to use God’s gifts to inspire others to be saved. I found this surprising, since public, governmental officials were making very pro-Christian-centered statements. Perhaps it is because I’m from the overly politically-correct Pacific Northwest, but this ruffled my feathers a bit because this publically-supported event seemed almost exclusive of anyone who was not Christian. However, when I enquired if this was the norm, Deana Rothwell and Greer Kimbell both were very quick to tell me that this event is the most open about it, and, probably because of Ricky Skaggs’s attendance, more so this time then ever before. I think Daniel Rothwell did a good job explaining the atmosphere at this particular festival by saying that “this is more a family friendly, good morals and no alcohol—not necessarily religious. That just happens to be that a lot more people are here because we live in the Bible Belt.”

So, perhaps at the root level, Uncle Dave Macon Days is an evangelical Christian event, but on a “practical” level, it is a way to bring the community together. If one didn’t know better, one would think that this press conference for the Uncle Dave Macon Days was a family reunion… and in a way it was. People throughout the generations meet up through this music scene to find friends and loved ones, pass the time, and learn from each other. Just as much as society has changed Old Country Time music to Dolly Parton, so has Country music changed the members of the community as they grew up musicking with it. 

 

Works Cited

Owen, Teresa, and Patsy B. Weiler. “History.” Uncle Dave Macon Days. Uncle Dave Macon Days, 2012. Web. 23 Apr. 2013.

Rothwell, Deana, Daniel Rothwell, Thomas Maupin, and Greer Kimbell. “Uncle Dave Macon Days Press Conference.” Personal interview. 10 Apr. 2013

 

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Rebuttal!

I was quite a fan of my friend Jake’s rebuttal to my post regarding death, so I thought I’d post it here. 

I will say I do not think I anywhere attacked or was disrespectful of religion. Brainwashed and being “taught how to think” are the exact same and I have no problem saying brainwashed, with those connotations, because that’s what’s happening. Again, for better or for worse. You can make that judgement, but don’t pretend it’s not happening. As for the rest of my essay, I don’t think I did anything more than describe what’s happening with a cynic’s point of view, and that should always be a welcome one — from any angle. 

The point of my essay was on death, and so I found it somewhat humorous how much attention my comments on how and why i don’t believe religion’s description of afterlives. I will refrain from further commenting on this.

My one comment about the points Jake makes is that yes, I most definitely did overgeneralize, all over the place. And I do apologize for that.

But without further ado, here is Jake’s review

Read More

Death

People always lift an eyebrow when I say that I’m not scared of death, but they almost always do a double take when I say that in conjunction with my beliefs on the afterlife… or perhaps, I should say, my lack of beliefs.

Like most atheists, I don’t believe in an afterlife.  While it is a beautiful mechanism to control the masses with the good old carrot-and-stick, as well as a wonderful opiate to distract from their present day struggles, as Karl Marx says, I just don’t personally buy it. The beauty of a heaven-and-hell concept is that it’s fine if a believer decides he doesn’t buy it anymore… he’ll just go to hell (ensuring that no one even wants to consider the possibility of a lack of afterlife). To me, it’s also a little suspicious that people with Christian parents believe in Christianity’s teachings, people with Buddhist or Hindu parents believe in reincarnation, etc. You’ve just been brainwashed (for good or for bad) to believe in your deepest guts that that particular afterlife rings true. Just because something feels true does not, absolutely, make it true. Like the notion of an afterlife.

Before I distract myself with an argument against heaven and hell let me address what the purpose of this post is: to clarify my philosophy on death, and why I’m not scared of it.

So let’s start with what I don’t believe in.

 I don’t believe that death…

  • “Is the next great adventure,” as Dumbledore says.
  • Leads to heaven or hell depending on my personal relationship with Jesus,  my good deeds, or my predestination (depending on who you ask).
  • Is just the start of my next life as a lizard or bird or… whatever.
  •  Means that you stay on as an observer in the clouds 

All of these, as I mentioned above, are nothing more than ways to make a person either feel better about their own inevitable death, or the death of a loved one, or the deaths of hundreds in mass disasters or terrorist attacks.

What I do believe happens after death:

  • You cease to exist. Completely.
  • Your body decomposes and is recycled into the environment

 

A little unnerving, perhaps. Definitely not consoling to those who have lost a loved one. But I don’t know if it’s really that depressing… honestly, I like it.

This view is an echo of Epicurus’s in that, once you die you stop existing. And since you won’t be existing, you won’t mind being dead. Therefore, you shouldn’t be worried about death because you won’t be around to deal with it. 

I like how Richard Dawkins put it the most:

“Being dead will be no different from being unborn—I shall be just as I was in the time of Wiliam the Conqueror or the dinosaurs or the trilobites. There is nothing to fear in that.” –Richard Dawkins

Besides, I like the idea of actually being practical and functional after my death. While my body decomposes, the matter that I borrowed when I was born provides food for the worms, trees, and just becomes one with the universe. This will mean nothing to me (because I’ll be dead), but it’s nice to know that my death will not mean I can’t give back to Mother Nature. I think Zhuang Zhou looks at death the most similarly as I. The below block quote is from Dr. Critchley, the author of “The Book of Dead Philosophers,” during an NPR interview.

 For Zhuang Zhou, death is just the transformation of matter from one state to another. We were alive, and now we become worm food or bird food or whatever. That’s nothing to be sad about. That’s something to be celebrated. And there’s a lovely story of, after Zhuang Zhou’s wife died, of him being discovered by a friend, pounding on a tub and singing. You lived with her, she brought up your children and grew old. And he’s asked why he was singing. He said: Why shouldn’t I sing? She lived, she died, she’s become something else. One shouldn’t mourn, one should ring the changes, pound the tub and sing. Death is nothing, nothing to be scared of.

Indeed, death is just part of the bigger picture:

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it quite true.” –Steve Jobs, Commencement address at Stanford University June 12, 2005.

The only sad part of death, for me, is not personally dying, but losing someone you love. I’ve always maintained that dying is worse for the living than the dead.  While it may be sad—devastating— to never again see a loved one, they will always be with you because they have changed you. When you truly love someone, you accept a little bit of them into your heart, and they live on in you. George Eliot once said, “Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.”… They’re just missing.

But at the end of the day, if you truly realize that life is a fragile gift that your parents gave you (note that I didn’t say God. In this day and age of planned parenthood, it’s your parents), I think you appreciate life more. There is no afterlife to look forward to—there is only today.

And these implications are huge. One stops doing things to be more aligned with what his/her religion to escape life’s suffering or get into heaven (because, at the root, this is why you’re part of a religion, even if you don’t want to admit that to yourself) and begins doing them to make the time we share on earth better for humanity. There is no saving souls, there is saving lives.

“What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?” - George Eliot  

When you know that there is no form of immortality out there, you begin to live entirely in the present. Each day is a gift—and if it’s terrible, well, at least you now have a fuller understanding of Life. Your time is more valuable then ever before, and each loved one deserves your undivided attention.

“Since we’re all going to die, it’s obvious that when and how don’t matter.”—Albert Camus.

I fully believe that I, and others who share this belief, have a greater appreciation for our lives, and live more in the moment than my religious neighbors for one simple reason: we don’t get another one.

okay this is the last one!