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... the door opens.
I've been knocking from the inside. ~ Rumi
What can I say? 130 miles away on a tiny ledge between the mountains and the sea, surrounded by flower growers and horse stables, there is a little garden that makes the Huntington look shabby, small wood-chipped paths weaving between gargantuan aloes and agaves and rosemary and jacarandas and sage and jasmine and buckets of roses, where interesting rocks may give way to a small bench or a large statue of Ganesha with offerings of shells, flowers, coins, and stuffed animals left in a familiar fashion. The only large building is the Joseph Campbell library wherein lies his life's collection. There are four other classrooms, all of which are open to the gardens and patios and little windy paths, so that finches and hummingbirds occasionally dart in, and are a constant presence like the scent of the gardens (and, yes, horses and the sea).
This is not an institution, as far as I can see; it's a retreat. But yes, there's piles of books on mythology to read through, papers to write, stuff which I suppose should be considered work. Still. I would not feel comfortable writing "I am a bard" at the beginning of a personal statement to any other university, especially not now, not when I've been so shaky for so long. But there, someone merely asked, "Storytelling, or music?"
I ask myself why this didn't happen five years earlier, but it's all right. Maybe I needed to put myself through the self-discipline and rigor of classics training I would never have had the patience for later, precisely because it was difficult, and I tend to take intuitive, rebelling-against-rote shortcuts. The Latin PhD exam mattered.
This matters.
Here. I have trouble explaining what Pacifica is. Hopefully after being there a year I'll be able to. That is, assuming I'm accepted, but I think I will be.
'Now, lord,' said Gandalf, 'look out upon your land! Breathe the free air again!'
From the porch upon the top of the high terrace they could see beyond the stream the green fields of Rohan fading into distant grey. Curtains of wind-blown rain were slanting down. The sky above and to the west was still dark with thunder, and lightning far away flickered among the tops of hidden hills. But the wind had shifted to the north, and already the storm that had come out of the East was receding, rolling away southward to the sea. Suddenly through a rent in the clouds behind them a shaft of sun stabbed down. The falling showers gleamed like silver, and far away the river glittered like a shimmering glass.
'It is not so dark here,' said Théoden.
'No,' said Gandalf. 'Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulders as some would have you think. Cast aside your prop!'
From the king's hand the black staff fell clattering on the stones. He drew himself up, slowly, as a man that is stiff from long bending over some dull toil. Now tall and straight he stood, and his eyes were blue as he looked into the opening sky.
'Dark have been my dreams of late,' he said, 'but I feel as one new-awakened. I would now that you had come before, Gandalf.'
I've been knocking from the inside. ~ Rumi
What can I say? 130 miles away on a tiny ledge between the mountains and the sea, surrounded by flower growers and horse stables, there is a little garden that makes the Huntington look shabby, small wood-chipped paths weaving between gargantuan aloes and agaves and rosemary and jacarandas and sage and jasmine and buckets of roses, where interesting rocks may give way to a small bench or a large statue of Ganesha with offerings of shells, flowers, coins, and stuffed animals left in a familiar fashion. The only large building is the Joseph Campbell library wherein lies his life's collection. There are four other classrooms, all of which are open to the gardens and patios and little windy paths, so that finches and hummingbirds occasionally dart in, and are a constant presence like the scent of the gardens (and, yes, horses and the sea).
This is not an institution, as far as I can see; it's a retreat. But yes, there's piles of books on mythology to read through, papers to write, stuff which I suppose should be considered work. Still. I would not feel comfortable writing "I am a bard" at the beginning of a personal statement to any other university, especially not now, not when I've been so shaky for so long. But there, someone merely asked, "Storytelling, or music?"
I ask myself why this didn't happen five years earlier, but it's all right. Maybe I needed to put myself through the self-discipline and rigor of classics training I would never have had the patience for later, precisely because it was difficult, and I tend to take intuitive, rebelling-against-rote shortcuts. The Latin PhD exam mattered.
This matters.
Here. I have trouble explaining what Pacifica is. Hopefully after being there a year I'll be able to. That is, assuming I'm accepted, but I think I will be.
'Now, lord,' said Gandalf, 'look out upon your land! Breathe the free air again!'
From the porch upon the top of the high terrace they could see beyond the stream the green fields of Rohan fading into distant grey. Curtains of wind-blown rain were slanting down. The sky above and to the west was still dark with thunder, and lightning far away flickered among the tops of hidden hills. But the wind had shifted to the north, and already the storm that had come out of the East was receding, rolling away southward to the sea. Suddenly through a rent in the clouds behind them a shaft of sun stabbed down. The falling showers gleamed like silver, and far away the river glittered like a shimmering glass.
'It is not so dark here,' said Théoden.
'No,' said Gandalf. 'Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulders as some would have you think. Cast aside your prop!'
From the king's hand the black staff fell clattering on the stones. He drew himself up, slowly, as a man that is stiff from long bending over some dull toil. Now tall and straight he stood, and his eyes were blue as he looked into the opening sky.
'Dark have been my dreams of late,' he said, 'but I feel as one new-awakened. I would now that you had come before, Gandalf.'
