We all have one thing in common, every live being on the face of this earth, a heart and more specifically a heartbeat. It is the one thing simple, yet oh so complex that labels us alive or dead.
All our tickers are like silent bombs that have been set and will detonate at a time and place far beyond our knowing. Every stroke and beat is like countdown to an invisible timer we cannot visualize.
Is this scary? Well, I guess it depends on our point of view, how we view our lives. Some person suffering might be praying for the blessed assurance that anytime their suffering will end, and that clock will stop, and that they will have reached their count down. On the other hand, some individuals find their hearts are about to stop all too soon and premature, especially at the view of their loved ones, who might think why? You are too young to die! These events were an eye opener to me as I witnessed my first ever Code Blue.
It was an early Wednesday morning, and I lay still in my bed hitting the REM cycle as I dream vividly about a young lady about to be wed. She was dancing in a field of wheat and sunflowers. She was a country girl of whom I had never seen in my life, but in my dream, I knew her. It seemed I had known her family too, they were hillbillies and she was the pride and joy of their family, a shining star on her family crest. She had long, slinky, dark chestnut hair that was pulled up for such an occasion, Decorated with a fresh flower from the fields. She wore a form fitted white dress that looked as if it was her mama’s passed onto her. In her hands were an array of hot pink, sassy orange, and depressed purple Gerber Daisies wrapped precisely with an off white ribbon. She twirled distantly from her family knowin...
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...en complete, like the day is not my final draft, and I am still working on it.
I drove home and vegetated on every piece of food I had in my house. As if I had done so much just standing there all day, but emotionally I was exaughsted, so that defiantly had to have burned up some calories I am sure. I threw down some comfort food, cereal, chocolate, Zingers, like a Twinkie, only better! I remember sitting down getting ready to do some homework, thinking this is not going to cut. I closed my book and drifted off to sleep.
As I lay there the day played over and over again, subconsciously I kept seeing the girl in my dream. I thought what was the significance of today? What lesson did I learn? Well, I learned that no matter what we do all day, we should take the time to acknowledge our heartbeats. To listen, even for just five to ten seconds and think, wow!
“She lay awake, gazing upon the debris that cluttered their matrimonial trail. Not an image left standing along the way. Anything like flowers had long ago been drowned in the salty stream that had been pressed from her heart. Her tears, her sweat, her blood. She had brought love to the union and he had brought a longing after the flesh. Two months after the wedding, he had given her the first brutal beating. She had the memory of his numerous trips to Orlando with all of his wages when he had returned to her penniless, even before the first year had passed. She was young and soft then, but now she thought of her knotty, muscles limbs, her harsh knuckly hands, and drew herself up into an unhappy little ball in the middle of the big feather bed. Too late now to hope for love, even if it were not Bertha it would be someone else. This case differed from the others only in that she was bolder than the others. Too late for everything except her little home. She had built it for her old days, and planted one by one the trees and flowers there. It was lovely to her, lovely.” (Hurston 680).
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
Another factor that clearly brings out the theme is the fact that she claims that orderliness of family roses is her pride. However she may not necessarily be that orderly as depicted in the development of that story. The author of the story Shirley Jackson uses the author and her ambiguous cha...
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Mrs. Mallard’s repressed married life is a secret that she keeps to herself. She is not open and honest with her sister Josephine who has shown nothing but concern. This is clearly evident in the great care that her sister and husband’s friend Richard show to break the news of her husband’s tragic death as gently as they can. They think that she is so much in love with him that hearing the news of his death would aggravate her poor heart condition and lead to death. Little do they know that she did not love him dearly at all and in fact took the news in a very positive way, opening her arms to welcome a new life without her husband. This can be seen in the fact that when she storms into her room and her focus shifts drastically from that of her husband’s death to nature that is symbolic of new life and possibilities awaiting her. Her senses came to life; they come alive to the beauty in the nature. Her eyes could reach the vastness of the sky; she could smell the delicious breath of rain in the air; and ears became attentive to a song f...
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The poem ‘The Farmer’s Bride’ is based on a couple relationship between the farmer and his bride. It is in some aspects similar to ‘Of Mice and Men’ as they both present a couple based relationship. In the poem the relationship is bet...
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As the images and scenarios form, one’s emotions become a promising technique the brain plays on, touching the core of an individual’s deepest desires. When one wakes, the dream may be remembered; it might be in bits and pieces, but the parts still contain the dream. With the memories of the dream, comes the notion of wonder as one begins to contemplate whether what was seen in the dream is really the desires of her heart and mind or if the...
Following the worst lesson of my life so far, the rest of the day went