A Room of One's Own

Woolf, Virginia. (1929). A Room of One's Own. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc.

A Room Of One's Own started as a series of lectures written and delivered by Virginia Woolf, to the Arts Society at Newnham College and Girton College in October 1928, originally titled, "On Women and Fiction." The papers were too long to be read in full. They were expanded and put into book form in 1929.

I remember first reading this toward the end of college. It was foundational. I am happy to be nearing the end of the 'little kid' phase of parenting. My youngest is entering Kindergarten. I finally feel I have time to put into work and personal interests. I am grateful for the time I've been able to put into parenting up to this point. And I'm equally grateful that the time is opening up, kids are off to school, and there is time for other things. There is a wonderful new chapter waiting to be written. Don't worry Mother Woolf... contributions will be made!! Below is one of my favorite passages.

Text below is taken from the end of the book - Chapter 6, pgs 195-199


"How can I further encourage you to go about the business of life? Young women, I would say, and please attend, for the peroration is beginning, you are, in my opinion, disgracefully ignorant. You have never made a discovery of any sort of importance. You have never shaken an empire or led an army into battle. The plays of Shakespeare are not by you, and you have never introduced a barbarous race to the blessings of civilization. What is your excuse? It is all very well for you to say, pointing to the streets and squares and forests of the globe swarming with black and white and coffee colored inhabitants, all busily engaged in traffic and enterprise and love-making, we have had other work on our hands. Without our doing, those seas would be unsailed and those fertile lands a desert. We have borne and bread and washed and taught, perhaps to the age of six or seven years, the one thousand six hundred and twenty-three million human beings who are, according to statistics, at present in existence, and that, allowing that some had some help, takes time.

There is truth in what you say--I will not deny it. But at the same time, may I remind you that there have been at least two colleges for women in existence in England since the year 1866; that after the year 1880 a married woman was allowed by law to posses her own property; and that in 1919--which is a whole nine years ago--she was given a vote? May I also remind you that the most of the professions have been open to you for close on ten years now? When you reflect upon these immense privileges and the length of time during which they have been enjoyed, and the fact that there must be at this moment some two thousand women capable of earning over five hundred a year in one way or another, you will agree that the excuse of lack of opportunity, training, encouragement, leisure and money no longer holds good. Moreover, the economists are telling us that Mrs. Seton has had too many children. You must, of course, go on bearing children, but, so they say in twos and threes, not in tens and twelves.

Thus, with some time on your hands and with some book learning in your brains--you have had enough of the other kind and are sent to college partly, I suspect, to be un-educated--surely you should embark upon another stage of your very long, very laborious and highly obscure career. A thousand pens are ready to suggest what you should do and what effect you will have. My own suggestion is a little fantastic, I admit; I prefer, therefore, to put it in the form of fiction.

I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee's life of the poet. She died young--alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the crossroads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh. This opportunity, as I think, is now coming within your power to give her. For my belief is that if we live another century or so--I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not the little separate lives which we live as individuals--and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky, too, and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton's bogey, for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact, for it is a fact that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women, then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare's sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down. Drawing her life from the lives of the unknown who were her forerunners, as her brother did before her, she will be born. As for her coming without that preparation, without that effort on our part, without that determination that when she is born again she shall find it possible to live and write her poetry, that we cannot expect, for that would be impossible. But I maintain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while."

People Get Ready

People Get Ready
By "The Ramblers" a band that sings for
St. Augustine Chapel at Vanderbilt University
performed on January 22, 2012
http://www.staugustineschapel.org/worship-music/ramblers-music/

Make Me an Instrument by Blair Bodine

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eBIt3Mhq0SI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Make Me an Instrument
by Blair Bodine

Make me an Instrument of your peace
Make me the music of a melody
I’ll be the bass, I’ll be the fiddle
3 part harmony, make me the middle

Make me a flute or a clarinet
Make me a tune you haven’t finished yet
I’ll be a harp, made out of golden wire
Save me a spot in the Sunday choir

I’ve  got this voice, I wanna use it
I’ve got one life, I’m gonna set mine to music
And a choice, about how my time is spent
So, Lord, make me an instrument!
Oh, Lord, make me an instrument!

Make me the sound of a violin
Make me a solo on a mandolin
I’ll be the strings in a symphony
Give me a bucket, I can make a beat

I’ve  got this voice, I wanna use it
I’ve got one life, I’m gonna set mine to music
And a choice, about how my time is spent
So, Lord, make me an instrument!
Oh, Lord, make me an instrument!

Let me be the chorus that brings you back around
I can be the silence where you feel all their sound
I wanna be the reason that this song is sung
I wanna keep believin’ when the song is done

So, make me an instrument of your peace
Make me the music of a melody
I’ll be the bass, I’ll be the fiddle
3 part harmony, make me the middle
                oh make me the middle

I’ve  got this voice, I wanna use it
I’ve got one life, I’m gonna set mine to music
And a choice, about how my time is spent
So, Lord, make me an instrument!
Oh, Lord, make me an instrument!

Stepping Stones

This is a post from Sara, a woman who inspires me greatly!!

She writes:

"No moment from my God is a rock of burden. It is just a rock wanting to be broken apart into stepping stones."

http://gitzengirl.blogspot.com/2008/10/stepping-stones.html

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

"Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen
listen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YrLk4vdY28Q

performed by Rufus Waynwright, Jeff Buckly and
Leonard Cohen—there are several versions

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

*(Leonard Cohen’s version starts here)
Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The Holy Dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
and all I ever learned from love
was how to shoot out someone
who outdrew you

It’s not a cry you can hear at night,
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

(Most versions end above, Leonard Cohen’s version continues below)
You say I took the Name in vain
I don't even know the Name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The Holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Note: 3/5/10
I’ve been obsessed with this song today. The melody completely draws me in. The lyrics are pretty. I believe the original author was Leonard Cohen; however, it’s been covered by a variety of artists and lyrics have been added or manipulated. I can’t say exactly what the original intent was with all of these lyrics. But, it’s beautiful. Clearly there is an allusion to King David, the Psalms, and Samson in the Bible. It conjures up images of a loving, albeit, strained relationship with God, mostly. But there is a carnal feeling to it, too. As I listen, I conjure up images of a sweaty run or bike-ride, a sob in the rain, raw physical affection, or falling down on one’s knees dirty and bloodied from a harrowing experience (e.g. birth, miscarriage, battle, a terrible accident). Sometimes our experience of God is so full and fresh, it’s exhilarating and palpable. And we all have those experiences where our faith wanes and we feel terribly alone. But that is a Holy place too. I think this is about those waning times—those times of longing. We can praise God in both of those places.

Hallelujah is a Hebrew word, meaning, “Praise Yaweh”. It’s primarily used in praise and thanksgiving. The author speaks of the “cold and broken Hallelujah.” I interpret the Cold, Broken Hallelujah as those time when we cry out for God but feel He is a million miles away—when we ache for His presence, but can’t seem to feel it. When we want to yell and scream. When we embrace, tearfully.
I’m curious what you think? Any different interpretations or thoughts? I’d love to hear what others come up with. Love listening to this and the various versions. Feel free to comment, if you like.

The Old Rugged Cross, Historical Links to Sturgeon Bay

These are snippets from a few sites online. Just thought it was interesting, as my friend Bev posted part of the lyrics today.

THE OLD RUGGED CROSS
Bernard was a Methodist evangelist involved in a series of revivals
from Wisconsin to New York State while carrying with him the words of
this poem of the cross. During the travels he worked on the hymn with
friends. It is said to have been completed on December 29, 1912,
while in a revival in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. A well known Gospel
composer helped him touch up the music and harmony while Billy Sunday's
great song leader used it first and made it widely used well known.
The Old Rugged Cross is probably the most beloved of the old hymns of
the 19th century.
http://www.ministrytoday.org/pastors/p-hymns.htm

THE OLD RUGGED CROSS
Most popular Christian hymn, completed by Rev. George Bennard during evangelistic meetings Dec. 29, 1912, to Jan. 12, 1913, at the Friends Church, Sturgeon Bay, Wis. First sung the last day as a quartet in the church parlors and as a duet at the final service that night from penciled words and notes.
http://www.cardcow.com/69212/memorial-to-the-old-rugged-cross-sturgeon-bay-wisconsin-sturgeon-bay/

THE OLD RUGGED CROSS
From Marc De Bruyn (emdebe@village.uunet.be) - September 7, 2003
"The Old Rugged Cross" was composed by Rev. George Bennard (1873-1958), a Methodist minister, in 1913. It was written in Albion, Michigan (where he conducted evangelistic services and operated a music company and tract society), or Pokagon, Michigan (where the hymn was first sung publicly at a revival meeting), or Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin; all three towns claim to be the birthplace of this hymn, that has become an all-time favorite.

"The Old Rugged Cross" became an instant hit, but it did not make Bennard rich: he sold the rights to the Rodeheaver Company of Winona Lake, Indiana for $500, and the copyright was renewed for about $5,000 years later. Bennard also wrote numerous other gospel songs, but none matched the quality of "The Old Rugged Cross", which has stood the test of time and is one of the most famous hymns ever written.

"On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, / The emblem of suffering and shame; / And I love that old cross where the dearest and best / For a world of lost sinners was slain / So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, / Till my trophies at last I lay down; / I will cling to the old rugged cross, / And exchange it some day for a crown / O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world, / Has a wondrous attraction for me; / For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above / To bear it to dark Calvary / So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, / Till my trophies at last I lay down; / I will cling to the old rugged cross, / And exchange it some day for a crown / In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine, / A wondrous beauty I see, / For 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died, / To pardon and sanctify me / So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, / Till my trophies at last I lay down; / I will cling to the old rugged cross, / And exchange it some day for a crown / To the old rugged cross I will ever be true; / Its shame and reproach gladly bear; / Then He'll call me some day to my home far away, / Where His glory forever I'll share / So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, / Till my trophies at last I lay down; / I will cling to the old rugged cross, / And exchange it some day for a crown"
http://globalia.net/donlope/fz/songs/Old_Rugged_Cross.html

Hammer and a Nail

because sometimes I spend too much time in my head.. ;-)

lyrics by Emily Saliers  of the Indigo Girls

Clearing webs from the hovel
a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel
I've been digging too deep, I always do.
I see my face on the surface
I look a lot like narcissus
A dark abyss of an emptiness
Standing on the edge of a drowning blue.
I look behind my ears for the green
Even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes
Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail
Learn how to use my hands, not just my head
I think myself into jail
Now I know a refuge never grows
From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.
I had a lot of good intentions
Sit around for fifty years and then collect a pension,
Started seeing the road to hell and just where it starts.
But my life is more than a vision
The sweetest part is acting after making a decision
I started seeing the whole as a sum of its parts.
My life is part of the global life
I'd found myself becoming more immobile
When I'd think a little girl in the world can't do anything.
A distant nation my community
A street person my responsibility
If I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring.