Many writers like being controversial. Being controversial gets attention and attention is always good for a writer. Personally I get tired of controversy, it's just about riling people up, and I'm not fond of being riled up. On the other hand, I do feel strongly about certain things that are close to my heart. Talking about these things immediately puts me into controversial territory. I always wanted my writing to stay far away from conflict. I wanted to write about butterflies, and making a difference in the world in a way that people, in general, could rally around. I wanted to speak to man's greater sense of good. Case in point: Mother Teresa, not controversial.
However, when I REALLY write, I get close to my heart and I end up talking about those things that might be considered controversial. AND when I get close to my heart, I find a vulnerable space there. The writing that means the most to me is the writing that exposes me. Sometimes, after publishing a post, I feel strange. Maybe I shouldn't put myself in public like that. The phantom of the opera is walking around Paris mask-less, but when it's not personal, is doesn't touch the lives of others. Every day, us writers have to ask ourselves: do I want to open my veins onto the page and really touch other people's lives, or do I want to stay safe and unwounded? The choice should always be to open ourselves, but that is the scary place. Once upon a time I read an Amazon review for the book Twilight by Stephanie Meyers (maybe you've heard of it). Here are a few lines from the review: "Bella Swan (literally, "beautiful swan," which should be a red flag to any discerning reader) moves to the rainy town of Forks, and the whining begins on page 1. She is quickly established to be a mopey, ungrateful, self-pitying little toerag. At her new school, Bella Sue is promptly adored by everyone except the mysterious Cullens, who spend their time brooding, being pretty, smoldering, being perfect, and sparkling. Bella meets Edward, the Culleniest of the Cullens, (meaning he is more perfect and emo than the rest of them,) they fall in love within thirty pages. The plot shows up somewhere in the last fifty pages, which involves an EVIIIIIILL vampire named James who wants to eat Bella. James is the only character I like." While this review is witty, and sums up my feelings about the book, it is destructive in it's tone. When Stephanie Meyers began writing these books, she probably didn't think about angry Amazon reviewers. If she had, she may not have finished. While I'm sure this reviewer wouldn't mind the non-existence of the Twilight books, I wonder how many artists he has blocked from creation, simply because they envision a reviewer like him, wittily and publicly, tearing their work apart. The guy who wrote this review probably has difficulty building meaningful things in his life, because he knows all about the angry, ranting critics out there. In fact, he probably tears himself down before he even begins anything. Destructive energy takes much less effort than creative energy. And anything can be destroyed. So it is my goal to be more vulnerable, more personal, and hopefully touch the lives of you, my beautiful readers, with each post. Critics, I hope you will learn to build. I used to be a destroyer too. (Don't get me started on the girl who constantly states that she doesn't eat chocolate.) Sigh...I still have work to do. Am I done talking about fashion yet? Not sure, we'll see.
Now that I'm mostly over the first day of fashion blog jitters, I can officially say this blog is more difficult than that blog. Easier and faster and less scary. I'm still scared of this blog sometimes. I feel like it's too big for me, or maybe I grow to fit it sometimes, but then I have to grow again because it always grows faster than me. I watched an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert this week, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, and at one point she is talking about how, while she was in India, she learned to quiet the noise in her mind. She said that like most people, she has running critics in her head telling her what she can and can't do and freaking out about stuff. Previous to India, she always felt the critics were like important judges on a stand with a gavel sentencing her. But while there, she gained a wider view and saw these critics and anxious voices more like children throwing fits in the back of a van while a mother drives and hushes them saying, everything is fine, just calm down. I wrote about bullying a long time ago, and I'm not sure how clear I made myself in that post, but essentially I was saying just that. Whether the voices are in your head or outside of you it is the same thing. What if we imagined all those bullying voices as two year olds? Once a bully becomes a judge on a stand, he can say the most benign things and it can be interpreted as hurtful, simply because we are expecting to be hurt by this powerful being sent to condemn us. When in reality, he is a dirty-diapered, two-year-old testing his power. The problem with bullying starts with the voices in our heads, how we talk to ourselves and how we interpret those messages. Are they really hurtful? Are they important? I can't help but think that all these anti-bullying campaigns are looking at the wrong problem and won't make any difference. I could have used this knowledge back in the day. Sigh. Too bad I'm not standing on a box somewhere, shouting all this. So remember when I said I was obsessed with fashion? Well, now you're seeing my obsession in all its gory glory. I have talked about fashion for what? Three posts in a row? Today we're making that four. I have a lot to say about fashion I guess.
Yesterday I said that fashion is about dressing our spirits. I didn't come to that conclusion until I had already dressed for the day and I don't think my spirit wanted to wear that green silk shirt. I've always had trouble with that shirt, (note: I ripped it last time I wore it) but I just like the collar and the lace detail so much. So here it is, I love fashion, I love looking at clothes. I love looking at interesting outfits, I love owning clothes, but I don't love wearing clothes. Yesterday I went out and about my day in that green silk shirt and as the day wore on, I felt more and more frazzled. By the time I got home, I felt like a disaster. My hair was everywhere, I'm surprised my shirt wasn't ripped again, my legs were swollen and hurting, just like my feet, and I wasn't even wearing high heels. I woke up today asking what the problem was with yesterday, and the only thing I could think of was that I wasn't dressing my spirit. I was trying too hard. So this whole fashion blog thing is about learning to love wearing clothes. Sometimes I love wearing clothes, but not usually. I am searching for that magic formula. My outfit today definitely fits that magic formula. My spirit is happy with this. "We wore what" is the fashion blog I am currently obsessed with, and can't stop talking about, and I'm going to talk about it again today, right now. In one post Danielle talks about how some people are noticing the New York fashion bloggers have lost their magic because they're dressing for the street photographers instead of themselves. Danielle ends this post by saying, "Let's keep it real, guys." I don't know why that line stuck with me: Let's keep it real, guys. I keep saying that to myself when I get dressed in the morning. Let's keep it real. But what is real? What is my own personal style? What would my ideal wardrobe look like? I really don't know the answers to those questions. That is what my fashion blog is about, finding the answers to those questions. What does "real" mean to me when it comes to getting dressed in the morning? I'm glad you, my dear readers, are such good sports. One thing I can promise you, as we go on this journey together, is that I will never wear something simply to post it on my blog. Whatever I'm wearing on my blog is my outfit for the day. If I'm not willing to wear it all day (ie. Stiletto hells) I won't wear it on my blog. Just trying to keep it real, guys. And maybe this will be my last post about fashion, maybe. (Oh yeah, and in case you haven't noticed, my fashion blog is just another page on this blog. Go to the top and click the fashion blog tab.) I can't say I'm comfortable posting on my fashion blog yet, but it's good for me. Maybe I'll keep it up, maybe not. I don't know. I just know that right now it feels right.
The only thing I can relate my fashion blog to, is being a chef who has no aspirations of opening up my own restaurant or working as a chef professionally, but I love cooking so much and when I make something I think is really great, I want to invite people over to share it with. So I hope you enjoy it, and don't hold it against me. The funny thing about this fashion blog is not the pictures going up online, but the fact that because of it, I'm doing so many things that I've been putting off for years. I reorganized all my clothing. I filed my nails this morning. And I sewed up the shirt I'm wearing. The last time I wore it, I tore it, so I haven't worn it for over a year until today. I'm even considering window shopping at the mall. After reorganizing my clothing, I can see how I would have created a different wardrobe for myself if I had been shopping more mindfully for the past few years. I have so many clothes that are just clothes for the sake of wearing something. Very few of them make me feel beautiful or anything other than, blah. So this fashion blog is a challenge, forcing me to create satisfying outfits out of the clothing I already own. The strangest thing about this whole fashion blog thing is that it is so outside my realm of comfort. If I were doing this to compete with the famous fashion bloggers out there, I would fail. Despite my fashion education, I don't consider myself an expert. I'm not from New York. I don't aspire to stand out in a crowd. I don't have the most beautiful body in the world. But there is just something about clothing that gets me. Maybe it's the fact that clothing is a silent statement about how we feel about ourselves, how we feel that day, and how comfortable we are with ourselves. I was probably so obsessed with clothing in the earlier part of my life as a way of trying to find myself. The perfect outfit would tell me who I was. Now I understand that finding the perfect clothing, like finding myself, is a continual process, and something that needs mindfulness, not tons of money, or a perfect body, to happen. And no matter how each person may or may not feel about clothing, whether they put thought into their outfits or not, clothing always speaks. Apparently there is this whole New York culture of street photographers who walk the streets of New York with their cameras taking pictures of the fashionable people they see. I just learned this from the fashion blog I've been reading. No wonder the rest of the world feels so distant from the fashion culture, I don't know anywhere else where people can walk out on the street and into a photo shoot on a regular basis, just because they look good that day. Most people just yank on a pair of sweats and flip flops to go to the grocery store. But maybe that's the point I'm getting at, New York and fashion feels so far away and removed from us humans, that we feel we can't attain a nice wardrobe without lots of money, effort, and know-how, and what's the point anyway, who cares what I look like when I go to the store. But our outside affects our inside and vice versa. How we dress affects how we feel, and how we feel affects how we dress. When you want to change one, the other will follow. So the next time you ask, who cares what I look like? The answer is, your spirit does. You aren't dressing your body, you're dressing your spirit. And if it takes starting your own fashion blog to make you consider your spirit when you get dressed in the morning, go for it. Or join mine. I would love to post your pictures. Okay, now I'm for real real scared, and I can tell you exactly why. But before I spill my guts, let me walk backwards over the past few days.
As I said in my last post, I have been following a fairly famous fashion blogger. I started following her because, as a fellow blogger, I wanted to track her humble beginnings to see what happened and how and when, and all that stuff. (Besides that, I'm a sucker for clothing.) So I scooted back all the way to the beginning of her blog and read forward. Starting her blog I was expecting a nice success story and a few fashion tips I might or might not take into consideration. What I was not expecting was the opening of Pandora's box. I liked her style, and it jived with mine. I would wear most of her outfits. She started blogging at nineteen. At nineteen I loved clothing too. I would almost venture to say, I was obsessed with clothing, just like my blogging friend. She reads Vogue magazine and gets excited about New York fashion week and upcoming trends. Hmmm... just like I used to be. As I continued reading through her life, everything was sounding so familiar. It was like reading my own blog if I had moved to New York and followed my clothing passion. And suddenly I felt very sad. Like I said, when I was nineteen, I was obsessed with fashion, but I believed that killer fashion was uncomfortable. So when I got ready for the day I took two hours doing my hair and make up, and then dressing in the greatest outfit I could put together, which usually involved very high heels that killed my feet. I suffered every day, unless I decided to dress down. I didn't understand how to be comfortable and look good, so comfort meant sloppy. Soon after I turned twenty, I went home for Christmas break and became very sick for two weeks. I was too weak to climb out of bed most of the time, so I laid there reading and thinking. I thought about what I wanted in life. I had wanted to work in the fashion industry. I had wanted to live in New York. I had wanted a wardrobe full of expensive shoes. But as I laid in bed for two weeks, one word scraped all the paint from my mind. Simplicity. What would a simple life look like for me? Living in New York, being obsessed with clothing and wearing painful shoes was not simple. During those two weeks of bed rest, I reconstructed my future from a simpler perspective, When I returned to school for spring semester, my mind and body were completely changed. I was a simpler person and I felt fashion complicated my life. I cancelled my fashion magazine subscriptions. I cleaned my wardrobe of anything that didn't fit the description: simple. And I refused to wear anything solely for its look. I was now about comfort and simplicity. I stayed in my fashion major just because I liked it and it made sense, but I refused to let myself be pulled into the fashion world again. I didn't go to Las Vegas Fashion week when I had the chance. I never looked at vogue.com, and when I went to New York and walked around all the killer shops, I wouldn't let myself fall in love with any clothing unless it was simple. I remember one incidence in the mall when I noticed a mannequin's outfit. I walked over to look closer. It was beautiful, then I stopped myself. It wasn't simple. It was too fashionable. So I walked away and didn't look back. That happened lots of years ago. And as I read this fashion blog, I found my love for fashion being awakened again, and all those years of neglect made me feel very sad. I had not allowed myself a simple pleaser that had always been very strong in me, the pleasure of putting together a killer outfit. But since my fashion desires have sat dormant for so long, I feel like I have to learn everything brand new. But I'm not going backwards, I'm going forward. Now I understand how to be comfortable and fashionable. I also understand how to dress my truth. So things will be different now. Things will be better. On to part two of what I wasn't expecting from the fashion blog. After I finished my post on Friday, I shut my computer and went about my day, but I had a nagging feeling in the back of my head. A feeling I kept calling stupid and vain and immature and lots of other names. A feeling I am almost embarrassed to admit now: I wanted to start my own fashion blog. I fought this feeling for the past three days. Why exactly did I want to start a fashion blog? Was I just trying to stroke my ego? Was I wanting to be just like that girl whose blog I was reading? What exactly did I want from it? What about this blog? These are all questions I stewed over, and even as I visited a friend last night, all the while feeling selfish about the thought of posting pictures of myself on the internet, while he laid in a hospital nightgown wondering if he would survive until the end of the year, I knew a fashion blog was something I just had to do. The show must go on. The number one reason I want to have a fashion blog is, fashion is something I take great pleasure in and I want to share that pleasure with the world/internet. I will keep this blog the same. The fashion blog will be mostly pictures with a brief paragraph (maybe). I am entering new territory. How will my beloved readers take this new exposure? Will they think it is stupid? Immature? Egotistical? I don't know. So that, dear readers, is why I'm scared. Finding home is all new territory for me. I hope you enjoy the ride. Whenever I sit down to blog, I get a kind of nervous fear. This is the fear of writing from a vulnerable place.
I have been following a fashion blog recently and, in a way, I am jealous that she can have so much fun blogging about something so appealing and benign as fashion. Unfortunately, I have to blog tenderly and vulnerably and make myself nervous and afraid. But then, what is the point of doing anything if it is not meaningful? I have always warred with the purpose of things. When I was younger, I thought about creating things but rarely did, because THEN what do you do with it? I always liked clothing because they seemed like more useful creations. When I went to school for clothing design and designed my own line for the yearly fashion show, I knew clothing wasn't my calling either. I didn't feel like I added anything to the clothing world, and I wanted to do something with a greater purpose. I guess my whole life has been spent searching for the place with the greatest purpose. A place where I could contribute something worthwhile. A place where I could make a difference. Now I've started this blog. I am not technologically savvy. I don't even know what an RSS feed is, let alone how to make mine work. But this blog is where I belong. I can grow and share with anyone who passes by. And yet at the same time, this is the scariest place for me. I don't know what I'm scared of, but I keep wanting to distract myself from writing. I hope you, my readers, feel the intention and energy I put into this blog. Sometimes I'm so nervous about my feelings, I wonder if they get in the way of my writing. I almost feel like I've created a talk radio show. At the end of the show I turn off the mike and leave the dark, quiet studio alone, wondering what difference today made. But I keep coming back because it is the only thing that makes sense. I get comments here and there, "I heard you on the radio the other day..." "I really liked what you said." I nod, not knowing how else to respond. It feels good knowing people are listening, I know I have a few loyal followers, but since my readers are not a loud or boisterous lot, I don't know how many there are. But sometimes I wonder if I'm missing something. Or am I just in a strange, new place and expect it to feel differently? I don't know. If I ranted about everything that is wrong with the world and how everyone who disagrees with me is an idiot, then I would probably feel the opposite way I'm feeling now. I would probably get into heated discussions with people in the grocery store, then blog about it the next day. My readers would be as boisterous and opinionated as me, leaving billions of comments a day, telling me how stupid and how awesome I am. I would attack each post with feverish passion and my blogging life would consume every other aspect of my life. But this is a slow, peaceful, heartfelt blog, that sometimes makes me feel a tad exposed. And instead of attacking each post with feverish passion, I approach it slowly, walking sideways. What are we writing today? I don't know. I don't have words, just feelings. How do we put those feelings into words? I don't know, let's look at Facebook for a minute/hour. Good idea. We're going to come back eventually though, and unless we write honestly, there is no purpose. What will we do then? I don't know, that's why it's scary. Facebook. Facebook! The safety of distraction. Sometimes my voice feels so quiet. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints this is my reality:
The church is true. The church is run by God and God alone. The leaders of the church are peripheral to God. If the leadership changes, it is still God's church. The leaders are mouth pieces for God and God doesn't change. If I have a problem with the leaders, or with the doctrine of the church, I take my issues up with God. God hears and answers my prayers. God loves me. I am special to Him. God honors and respects women in a way that we cannot even comprehend. God doesn't change his opinions according to what the world thinks. God doesn't change anything to please the world. (Although he might change things in order to keep His people safe.) If the leaders of the church changed the church to satisfy public opinion, it would not be the true church. (Although sometimes I'm sure they wish they could. It would make their lives so much easier.) If God says women don't need the priesthood, I believe Him. This is how I see the world view: The world skews reality to suit their opinions and call it factual data. The world's opinions and beliefs are constantly shifting. The world sees women as oppressed. Women need to be ordained to the priesthood in order to feel equal to men. (According to my reality, I am already equal with men. I do not need anyone making up for past inequalities to me. Sure, we have been oppressed throughout history, but that oppression is unrelated to the church system. If I did feel oppressed or unequal, I'm sure I could find examples to prove I was right. Once upon a time I kept wondering if my husband loved me. I kept asking the question to myself over and over, and I always found reasons to believe he didn't. But when I decided that he did love me and I stopped asking if he did, I found examples of his love everywhere. Now I just feel stupid.) The world encourages anyone who has been oppressed to fight back with equal or greater force in which they have been kept down. The world needs to make up for that oppression by giving them special privileges. (According to my reality, this is still oppression turned inside out. In order to truly be equal we can't be seen as "that oppressed minority" or "those victims".) The world is loud. The world is persuasive. The world screams at those who don't agree with them, calling them names. The world sometimes convinces me... and then I get depressed. That is why I don't believe the world. That is why I have found reality instead. Reality is peaceful. Reality says that in the end everything will be okay. If it's not okay, it's not the end. Reality says there is nothing to worry about. Reality says change can happen through the small and simple things of this world. There is always beauty to be found if we open our eyes to see it. The bigger picture is more beautiful than the immediate, worrisome picture. Everything is perfect. Life will show you exactly what you want to see. When your mind changes, your view changes. When your view changes, your life changes. I don't want to lose touch with reality. Eve chewed and swallowed. As the fruit slid into her stomach, she felt a lump in her throat, and the fruit was not sitting pretty.
She looked around, the garden seemed so much different now. Shadows stalked amidst the trees. The serpent was laughing at her, and she felt ashamed. A light breeze blew across her skin and she realized how naked she was, how vulnerable. And her stomach was so uncomfortable. She thought about Adam. What would he say? What would God say? She was in so much trouble. Moments before, eating the fruit made so much sense, but she couldn't remember any of her arguments now. Everything felt so strange. For the first time in her life she was afraid, and sick. She bent over and threw up. Throw up did not taste good and it didn't feel good either. She stayed bent over for a moment, then began sobbing. Animals fled. The sound of sorrow had never entered the garden before. What had she done? Her only hope now was Adam eating the fruit. As long as he ate the fruit, they would survive together, if not, she would wander alone, living a life of sorrow and regret until she died, while Adam lived forever alone in the garden. She picked up a new, clean piece of fruit, wiped her face clean, and headed off to find Adam. Would he see that she was different now? As she walked, she thought about how she would approach her husband. She could tell him to eat the fruit and if he didn't he was an idiot. She could cry and apologize over and over, hoping he would see her side. She could fold her arms and say, "Eat it, or you'll be alone, and I don't think you want that." For a moment she felt like the serpent. The serpent offered her the fruit, now she was offering it to Adam. She felt so low, so dirty. Adam was too good for her anyway. She didn't have much hope of him choosing to be with her now. Her heart ached in her chest. She could even say, "If you love me, you'll eat the fruit." As she saw him standing by the watering hole, watching the fish, dread landed on her like a meteor. She stood, holding the fruit, watching him from a distance, wondering if she could get out of this without offering it to him. If she pretended like she had never taken it, could they go on like they had before? But God knew. God knew everything and he would kick her out. And if she was kicked out, Adam had to come with her. It was the only way. With a festering ball in her stomach, she approached her husband. At the sound of her approach, Adam looked up and smiled. "Eve," he said. "I just love watching these fish every day, They have been the same fish every day for the past thousand years, and I've gotten really attached to them. All these animals are so great. You just missed Sandy, the black bear, she passed by a minute ago eating a nectarine." "Adam," Eve said. Something in her tone stopped his excitement. His smile faded as he looked at her. Then he noticed the fruit in her hand, then he looked back at her. "Eve," he said, feeling worried for the first time in his life. "Eve, tell me you didn't..." Her voice and her body melted into sorrow. She tried holding the fruit out to him, but she felt so weak. "Eve!" Adam held her arms. "Eve, talk to me!" "Please," she said, looking at the fruit in her hand. "I will be kicked out." "You ate it?" Unable to look at him, she said, "I didn't know how else to progress." When she finally lifted her eyes to his, she said, "Will you come with me?" Adam looked at the fruit, then looked at his sad and beautiful wife, who was somehow more beautiful than ever before. "I will," he said, and took a bite. "We'll be kicked out," Eve said, feeling relieved and even joyful. "But we'll be together. I'm sorry to do this, but it was the only thing that made sense." Adam nodded. He was experiencing all of his emotions for the first time, seeing light and darkness, feeling sick from the fruit, then feeling the sickness pass. They looked at each other for a long moment. "Well," Adam said, feeling happy and nervous for the first time. "I guess we should talk to God now." "Yeah," Eve said, worried, but not nearly as much as she had been. They held hands and went to face God and their consequences, together. Once upon a time there was a woman named Eve. Eve was married to a man named Adam and their lives were perfect, and I mean perfect. They didn't even have weeds in their garden. They didn't have to worry about gophers or snakes or anything. Although, there was one snake... And the more she thought about it, Eve was starting to believe there might be a problem too. Maybe things weren't as perfect as they thought.
Adam and Eve had lived perfectly for a really long time, and nothing had changed. Eve spent many nights thinking about her life with her husband, her perfect life, and yet, something was missing. One night she asked Adam how he felt about their lives. "It's cool," he answered. "Don't you feel like we're kind of stuck, like we need something more?" "Nope. Why?" "It just seems like we've been here for a long time and we're not really doing anything." "What do you mean we're not doing anything? I watched fish all day, and you made a fig leaf purse. That's something." "That's not what I mean." "What do you mean? Do you think we should eat the forbidden fruit like the serpent said?" "What?" "Yeah, the serpent approached me today telling me to eat the fruit." "What did you say?" "I said no. I mean, God said don't eat it, the serpent said do eat it. Which one do you think I'd choose? Besides, if I ate it, I would be kicked out of the garden. I don't want to be kicked out of the garden. Do you?" Eve turned over on her bed of soft grass. "I just know something's not right." "You just need rest. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll probably forget all about it." "Yeah," Eve said, unconvinced. When she woke up the next morning, she hadn't forgotten about it. And she didn't feel any different as she picked up her fig leaf purse and headed to the watering hole. Before she reached her destination, the serpent slithered up beside her. "What's up?" the serpent asked. "Just headed to the watering hole to collect nectarines," Eve answered. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why collect nectarines at the watering hole? Nectarines are growing everywhere. The watering hole is far. So, why?" Eve shrugged. "It gives me something to do." "Mmmm," the serpent said knowingly, "something to do. I guess you're bored." "I don't know what bored means." "Never mind. Hasn't it occurred to you that there might be more to life than eating nectarines and walking down to the watering hole?" Eve paused. "Yeah, I have thought of that actually. It's all so perfect, sometimes I wonder what's the point." "Exactly!" the serpent hissed and slithered in front of her. "You don't even know what bored means," he laughed. "You don't know what happy is. Or sick, or anxious. You don't know anything except that going down to the watering hole is the most interesting part of your day." He had a point. The serpent continued, "What if I told you of a simple way you could gain knowledge? Not only could you learn the meaning of the word bored, but you could experience it." Eve crossed her arms, uncertain of whether to trust the serpent. But then, if she had knowledge... "You could experience boredom and excitement, and pain, and happiness. You could experience everything and it's opposite. Opposites give you knowledge and understanding. Here in your perfect little world, you have nothing, and that makes you stupid." Eve didn't know what stupid meant, but the serpent seemed to know something and he was laughing at her. She felt longing and embarrassment and a hunger, all at once. She needed to know what the serpent knew. "Want to know what I'm talking about?" he asked. She nodded. The serpent smiled. "All you have to do is take one bite of the fruit of this tree," he wrapped himself around the trunk of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. "And you will know what boredom is, you will know what stupid means, and you will have knowledge. Just one bite will change everything." "But I'm not supposed to. That is the only thing we're not supposed to do, eat that fruit. I'll be kicked out of the garden. I'll lose everything." "Let's face it, Eve, this garden isn't that great. What do you have to lose, an eternity doing nothing? You could gain infinite knowledge." Eve stared at the fruit. He was right. She needed knowledge. She was missing opposites. Eating the fruit was the only real choice they had in the garden. If she didn't eat it, everything would stay the same forever. But what about Adam? He had already rejected the fruit. He didn't want to leave the garden. If she ate the fruit and he didn't, she would be kicked out of the garden to wander the earth alone. Was she willing to risk losing her husband over the opportunity to progress? She looked down at her fig leaf purse. She looked at the nectarine tree by the watering hole and a deep sadness came over her. She would be leaving all of this behind. Eating the fruit would throw her into a strange world where she may or may not have her husband by her side. She would lose everything in order to gain a real life, a life of opposites, a life of knowledge. She took the fruit, then closed her eyes and took a bite. |