Bucket's Essay Draft: Holy Ghosts

PEOPLE I SAW AND TALKED WITH THE FIRST WEEK OF THE SEMESTER
January 5-9, 2018
-Maya. A Laurel from one of my mission areas.
-Anastasia. Childhood friend. A Giants fan. Last time I saw her was at a sleepover 15 years ago.
-Alex. Ate at his apartment almost daily my freshman year.
-Garrett. Went to a scout camp together when we were 12. Still looks 12.
-Hayden. My mission trainer.

Actually, Hayden was the first person I saw on campus. Messy hair jostled by bitter wind. wrinkled pants clutched his slim thighs. A massive grin spilled over flushed cheeks.

It had only been three weeks since I last saw him, but the reunion retained lush sweetness. Just before Christmas, I planted myself on packed snow and cheered as massive oak doors revealed him and his radiant bride. No holiday jingle offered the same savor as watching their first dance. I gazed at others to see more familiar faces, whose tears also flicked to the ground to freeze.

This was Alma's joy. The moment where he sees his old friends, the Sons of Mosiah, return to Zarahemla after a tumultuous, 14-year absence. I was experience the same pure reunion. Alma and I shared a glance that Emmanuel Levinas describes eloquently. 

"To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity."

I was surrounded by heavenly Others. Infinite apparitions swarmed me. Each being awoke a separate, pungent sentience. These encounters became like concrete statues. Inexplicable. Overwhelming. Permanent.

PEOPLE I SAW AND AVOIDED THIS LAST WEEK
October 28 - November 1, 2019
-Sarah. Went on some dates with her. Painful conversations.
-Professor Scott. Had him a year ago. Had a question. Forgot it.
-This guy I can't stop seeing. From World Religions, long ago. Always wears business casual.
-Athena. Current classmate. Walk past each other in the same corridor twice a week at 2:55.
-Hayden. My mission trainer.

10 feet away. Same hair. pants. No smile. Head down. rushed steps. My mind alters between saying hello and checking my phone. Contorted, panicked thoughts. My jaw sags ajar, waiting for a command. A ramshackle "hey..." ejects itself into the stony air. 

He walks away, unfazed. Relief and regret, two unlikely friends, begin homemaking in the pit of my stomach.

They are everywhere. ghostly specters. I want to drop my backpack and say "CAN'T YOU SEE YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE?" As they impassively float by. My connections to them resembles bondage more than bond. Time, still undefeated, has spewed rust and heaved weight to my memories like never before. Now these cretins silently wail their siren songs as I reel through campus, haunting me with jilted taunts. "Remember me? Do you care? Do I care?" I wonder why it was so difficult for Nephi and his brothers to get the brass plates from Laban. Couldn't they have pretended to not see each other? They could have nabbed those suckers on the first try. Works great.

But guilt, constantly present, bruises my circumventing heels. I have immense difficulty feeling the joy Alma the Younger had, and Levinas embraced. I don't discover infinity the Other's eyes now; I confront an awkward conversation. Unneeded minutes spent on conjuring emotions. I spent two years talking to strangers, I am worried I'll spend as much time avoiding memories.

When did I learn about awkwardness? Could it be too many experiences when a familiar face brightens at something in my direction, and me return the warmth, only to discover the real cause, a closer friend, right behind me? Perhaps seeing old friends has become a glorified name game, scraping a barrel of discarded knowledge solely to reinforce how small the world is. Sometimes I wonder if I bought too many relationships, and now I have to dispose of expired ones from the fridge. Or maybe too many of these reunions have been met by unimpressed countenances, extinguishing the light in their eyes so I could leave sooner.

For some time I have seen my old friends disintegrate to stoic ghosts. I have grappled with the distance between I and the Other. 10 feet becomes light-years when the timing fails me. "Sorry, can't talk. I'm supposed to see you in class, not the library." "Excuse me, I'm buying cookies from the vending machine. You aren't supposed to glance over here." My life appears too burdensome for memories. My journals have become a filing cabinet, and putting all that on a flash drive? Too difficult. Negligence appears more comfortable.

But one moment keeps future joyous reunions on life support. Five minutes which altered everything.

I was horribly late for class. The somber March sun casts flecks of light through the cloud cover. Spindly legs launch me through the courtyard.
"Richard!" 
From nowhere, a small, bundled woman blocks my path. Caked in bronze, I can hardly recognize her. 
-Ashley. Sang in a choir together. Great friend. She dances competitively now. 
We strike a conversation. I walk with her. She smiles. I do too. We meet up weeks later. Date. Marry. We smile some more.

I cannot avoid these apparitions forever. They look too much like angels.

PEOPLE I SAW AND MADE MYSELF TALK WITH THIS LAST WEEK
-Kami. Served in Texas with me. Not Facebook friends.
-Devon. Worked with him as an intramural referee. Future car salesman.  
-Jessica. In a current class. Spent most of the talk figuring out who I was. Smiled in the end.
-Professor Boston. Refused to call me Buckets. Knows me as "The student not named Buckets."
-Hayden. My mission trainer.

Buckets's Belief Sketch

They are everywhere. Apparitions from the past. I can't go a day without seeing them. But they are worse than ghosts, they are old acquaintances.

The first one today. His square shoulders and towering body hunch over his phone. We were in the same ward two years ago. He lived three doors down. I sat next to him in Elders Quorum once. He made a bland comment about scripture study during a "breakout session." His suit was sharkskin but he didn't shower. That was the sole moment between us.
But what was his name? Was it worth beginning the obscure recollection process? Our eyes haven't met, so we are safe. I can keep walking. I am running late anyway.

In less than ten minutes the next one appears. Bright blue eyes, rushed gait. A nasally inflection confirmed my fear. Even worse, I remembered her name. Rachael. We had English 251 together. She announced she was going to the Farmington New Mexico mission. We were in the MTC together, but she never recognized me. That was five years ago.
She materializes right in front of me. Eye contact. Mild panic. My mind's recesses rattle off faint mantras. "Fellowship!" "Love!" "Reach Out!" "Minister!"
But before I can stammer a word she disappears into the crowd. Relief and pain simultaneously shoot through me.

Already two ghosts appeared and I've been on campus for ten minutes? This will be a spooky day.

Ana's Life-Altering Experience

• Ø  I had been having problems with my heath from the time I was about 11 or 12 years old—I just couldn’t explain what was going on.*
• Ø  When I was 17 years old, I had an ATV accident during a camping trip with family, and ended up running into a tree.
• Ø  My aunt, who was with me at the time, realized something was wrong, and knew I needed to get checked out.
• Ø  I ended up having to go to the hospital after the camping trip, and had to see specialist after specialist, and got tested. Eventually, I came to the hospital in Murray, UT that specialized in the care that I needed.
• Ø  After several tests and surgeries, I realized I would never be “normal” again, but I could try to learn how to live with the changes.
• Ø  Through it all, I was able to recognize how the Lord was working in it, even though there were times I couldn’t always see it—sometimes, I had to look back to see it.
• Ø  I realized that if it weren’t for that accident, I wouldn’t be where I am—it needed to happen—and luckily it happened in the secluded mountains

*Due to the highly sensitive content contained in this post, and the nature of this blog, this has been revised from its original form

Healed by Writing and The Lord

I have always written, but it wasn't till I dug a little deeper to find my true inner emotions to express that I could understand who I am. With that and the knowledge of my divine nature as a daughter of God that I found myself.

When I served my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ, I literally gave my whole self to the work to the point that I lost myself, but not in a good way. I lost myself in the sense that I suffered in order to help others. Not only did I help others at my expense, but I experienced many traumatic experiences. The experiences left me with emotions that I could not understand and because I could not understand them, I could not explain them to others. Trying to understand, but failing, I eventually gave up on trying to either explain myself to others or explain the emotions I felt to myself in my mind and in my journal. I repressed many intense and destructive emotions along the concourse of the 18 months I was serving. 

Coming home from my mission did not change the way I felt. Because I repressed so many emotions I was constantly and unknowingly anxious and depressed. It took some opening up to be able to understand what exactly I was feeling. After opening up more and more frequently in conversations with close friends, I realized that writing a book about my mission experience was what I needed to do to be healed from all the repressed emotions. I did that. I completed a full book. In the time span of 2 years, I spent countless hours trying to sort out experiences, feelings and emotions in my own mind through writing and communicating with my God. He healed me.

Learning to Rely on the Gospel through Journaling

Two weeks before I was going to take my driving test, I got into a car accident that resulted in an intense fear of driving. As I worked to overcome this fear the following summer, I documented in my journal the frustration that I was feeling because I didn’t seem to make any progress. Part of me expected that if I just kept on praying, I would eventually get in the car and my fear would magically dissolve. That did not happen. 

What did happen, however, was that as I gave what effort I could, Heavenly Father took care of the rest. Slowly the driving became easier. And when I was ready, I took and passed my driving test.

As I now look back at my account of my frustration—and my ultimate success when I was finally able to take my driving test—I realize what a significant role the Atonement played in my life as I struggled to emotionally heal from the accident and fight my weakness. Without frequent prayer and scripture study, I would not have had the courage to get back behind the wheel every day. 

My reflections have also matured my understanding of the gospel. Instead of expecting Heavenly Father to take away my fears or disappointments, I ask for His help in strengthening me enough to face those feelings. Because of my journal, I can vividly remember the journey I had. Looking back on this experience helps me realize that I can have the strength and comfort that comes from the gospel as I face later fears and challenges. Writing this experience strengthened my faith in God and the hand that He has in our personal lives.

The Power of the Written Word

Baptized January 4, 2014

Unlike some of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that I know, I have distinct memories of specific life changing events that converted me to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In a letter written 5 months after I had been baptized, I detail the experience of my conversion to the mission president of the California Roseville Mission. It is some 4,000 words, full of grammatical errors and mistakes of a very inexperienced writer. But as I reread the story of who I was at that point in my life, the story starts to replay itself in my mind: details I’d forgotten, gaps are being filled, and the perspective from the experiences I’ve had subsequently now fade as I am reminded that I didn’t have that understanding back then. I’m intrigued that even in my own life, writing the events soon after they happen can have quite a different effect on reminding the autobiographical writer that memory is subject to change over the course of time. 

Though this may be true for the minor details of the experience, the overall message is the same. I was still the only member of my family to join the Church, and the fire of my conversion had been lit – a flame in my bosom – and I felt at that time, as I do now, that no matter what, nothing could deter my conversion. Since that time, I’ve learned that journaling and writing my experiences, discoursing in Sacrament, and reaffirming the things that I once knew to be true through writing have been an integral part of my conversion and lasting activity in the church despite the opposition I currently face from family members and in-laws. From that, writing has solidified those memories of life changing events.

Having Ookos to See and Glazzies to Hear in all Things

Receiving spiritual enlightenment from A Clockwork Orange sounds about as bizarre as the time I told my new Elders Quorum President my favorite movie was Pulp Fiction... The TV-edit (no idea why I said that, it's Lawrence of Arabia). I like to believe I read it at the right time in my life. Otherwise, it would have been another weird reading assignment.

I was 16 and realizing how big and confusing the world was. People's interactions with religion fascinated me, and Alex DeLarge's certainly were fascinating. Underneath the dearth of violence and cruelty Alex gave and received there was still an interaction with God more complex than merely good and evil. And, in the final chapter, he realizes that his morals may change with age and experience. 

Though I wouldn't call A Clockwork Orange a Sunday read, the book helped me understand that eternal truths can pierce the darkest of trenches, and stir up spiritual notions in all things. I perceived God's influence to be even more powerful, and I began to denote the existence of a supreme creator in all things, whether it's The New Testament or Tupac's "A Rose That Grew From Concrete". I became part of a larger conversation, and it benefited the one I was creating with God.

Me contemplating life circa Junior year of high school

I've never watched A Clockwork Orange by the way, but it's probably a TV-edit choice as well.

Images Replace My Words

Growing up I've been told to keep journals, but for some reason I can connect with habitual writing. Nevertheless, I didn't let that discourage me from documenting my life. I love pictures and I truly believe each one is worth a thousand words. I begin to take and collect photos from where I've been, things that remind me of different lessons and opportunities that I've had a long the way. Each photo describes a different moment that floods my memory with it's corresponding journey. The only problem I find is that these moments are still indescribable. 

I can tell stories of things that happened in the past and I can remember details of specific locations, but having those pictures bring a whole new level of remembrance. As I look back at my performing tour in China this last summer, there were more spiritual moments than I give credit. As I look back through the album, I remember how lucky I am to be a part of an incredible organization, whether that be my team, my university, or my church. 

Journaling: The Way I Overcame a Mental Illness

Journaling has healed me in ways nothing else can. During my late high school and early college years I suffered from toxic perfectionism. I worked extremely hard in school, magnified my callings, volunteered, worked a part time job, and was a good friend, yet I never felt like I was doing enough. Those feels hit their apex when I was on my mission. I was working the hardest I have ever worked in my life, yet I still felt completely worthless. hroughout this time and the hard months that followed, I received lots of council and guidance from people who loved and supported me. Looking back, their advice was good, but my mind was too clouded from this mental illness for me to comprehend it. It wasn’t until I started journaling my thoughts, feelings, and experiences that I was able to make any real progress. It shifted my perspective and helped me detached myself from my own detrimental thought processes. Even now, I continue to use journaling as a means to express myself and process my emotions and experiences. It’s been the way I have been able to see Gods hand in my life and feel confident in my abilities and move forward in my uncertainty. 

Changing Course

Before I came to BYU, I attended one year at the University of Utah. I was enrolled in the business school and my plan was to pursue a career in accounting. During my second semester there I took a general English class in order to fulfill a requirement without much thought. Throughout the course of that semester, however, we discussed a lot of literary themes and their representation of modern issues that I hadn’t quite anticipated. The things we discussed changed my view of issues I had felt so sure about. Until that point, I hadn’t realized the importance of literature in presenting ideas and progressing certain ideals. In a class with such diversity of students, there were opinions that came from many different backgrounds that weren’t familiar to me. This course opened my eyes and made me think about what was important to me and not see the world in such a binary way. It allowed me to see the influence of God in so many lies and how present he can be at all times. I learned that modern media and literature had a much greater effect on people than I initially thought. This motivated me to change the course of my studies and career and changed the type of professional life I want to lead.

Over the next year I found my self at a new school, in a new environment, and studying new subjects. All of this happened because of the trust I had to place in God to guide me in the right direction. The eye-opening experience of seeing the great influence the study of literature can have on lives and the way we think as a society lead to me to where I am today.  It has certainly changed the way I live and the happier path I have chosen to pursue. 

"By My Own Hand": Journaling my Christian Life

Some of my personal journals
next to my father's biography.

My father titled his biography By My Own Hand, echoing Nephi's phrase from the Book of Mormon. The two of us spent many long hours going over drafts of his chapters, giving us many occasions to discuss his long and interesting life. I'll never forget how he came to terms with some pretty tough stuff (a failed first marriage, disappointments in business, betrayal by a partner, etc.) while composing his life story. He recorded so many kind thoughts about others, plus small triumphs and regular joys. His life writing made me proud to be his son.

Dad achieved an honesty, an authenticity, about his life by reflecting upon it and committing it to words. That drive to know the truth, and at the same time to be humble about one's own complicated thoughts and choices -- this is something that characterizes religious seekers, not just authors. It could refer to Joseph Smith, or St. Augustine, or my father -- or me.

By my own hand I write with a fountain pen in journal after journal, at times just chronicling the events of my life and family, and at times sounding the depths of what I believe, facing feelings, or talking to God, or reaching for answers. I really can't divide my religious faith and devotion from the literacy that has been ingrained in me. Journal writing connects me to family, to God, and to my most real self.

Journal writing is integral to the reflective and covenant life to which I am committed to as a Christian. Such personal writing has been for me both joyful and painful, creative and cringe-worthy -- a way of collecting myself and of shedding or shaping thoughts. It is a way to honor the people I love, to preserve the powerful insights I've received, and it is both a refuge and an adventurous mode of repentance.

Essay Assignment: My Literary and Religious Life

Purpose
The purpose of this assignment is to familiarize my students with blogging, allow them to introduce themselves, and to reflect on how literature and literacy are part of their identities -- particularly as connected to their religious life.

Instructions

• Create and post a miniature personal essay of 300 words or less through which you introduce yourself to others by telling a brief story illustrating some aspect of your own literary experience and its relationship to your faith. (Personal literary experience can include anything that has to do with writing or reading, and need not be connected to religious services, scripture, or LDS-oriented literature or events.) Do not exceed 300 words. Use Word Counter or a similar tool to check.
• Title your post. 
• Include a photo of yourself or a photo that fits the theme of your post. Do not post a general picture; use one of your own or take a new one.
• Use these labels: "posted by Gideon Burton" [insert your own name, of course] and "my literary and religious life" as well as any others that seem appropriate. (If you have trouble finding or using labels, skip it for now.)
• Read and comment on several other students' posts (at least three) 

Examples and Prompts
Read my example post on this blog, "'By My Own Hand': Journaling My Christian Life," or a previous one, "Safe Among the Indians," or look at any of these examples from past students: "Discovering God in Narnia" by Natalie Cherie; "this poetry is sexy" by Danielle Amanda; "My Lifelong Sing-a-Long" by Allyson J; or "The Public Sin that Changed Who I Am" by Tori Fawson.

Here are some prompts to get you thinking about your little essay. One thing to keep in mind with these is what kind of picture you might use to accompany the essay:

• Journal writing / reading
  How has this shaped your spiritual life? (Even when not writing about religious activities or explicitly about Mormon belief)? Has re-reading your own journal, or reading the journal of a relative, been a reflective and spiritual occasion for you? Have you felt a sense of identity with others who are not you but somehow like you?
• Letters
  As you've composed letters or email messages, or as you have received these, how has this been part of your religious or spiritual life? (Again, even if not directly associated with something like letters to/from missionaries, though that's okay)
• Poetry / Creative Writing
  Such writing need not have anything to do with your religious or spiritual life, but it can. Has this been the case with you -- either in reading poetry or composing it?
• Lyrics
  Do you write lyrics, memorize lyrics, share lyrics? Of course the texts written for hymns are a kind of lyrical poetry, but a lot of people are immersed in contemporary music (whether religious or LDS or not) and attach a lot of personal and emotional significance to such lyrics. Has this been the case with you?
• Reading history (personal, family, or church history; history in general; historical fiction).
  History can be pretty dry stuff and far away from your beliefs or spiritual feelings. But sometimes we connect powerfully with the past by way of a written history (or even historical fiction). Has this been the case for you?
• Plays
  In viewing, acting in, or even writing plays, have you felt connected to others (in the audience, in the cast, or even to the characters portrayed in the play)? Ever been involved in a church-sponsored dramatic activity?
• Social Media
  We don't think of this modern form of communication as literature, and much of it is superficial (or isn't even text-based). But if you've been involved in sharing your beliefs, even in very informal ways among your close online connections, this is a kind of literary experience with your religion. If you blog, have you blogged about your religion?