Writing

“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is … the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”

—Mark Twain

10.27.13
A Sailor's Lullaby -- Karis Rashleigh 

Perhaps I have already portrayed to you the idea that is constantly rolling around in my mind, and that is the idea of growing up. I'm sure it has been visited numerous times in just this portfolio- I just can't get it off my mind!

A little less than two years ago, I was inspired to compose a song on the piano, and this was the result. I decided to go ahead and create a visual collage of film clips to illustrate the ideas that I had written down on my original composition.

I've always been intrigued by Celtic sounding music, partly due to my heritage and also because I participate in Highland Dancing, a Scottish tradition. At Highland Dance competitions, I take my time to look around at all the different Celtic knots and symbols, I read books about the history of the different clans, I love learning more about my ancestors, and I love Celtic music!

Also, my favourite Highland Dance is called the Sailor's Hornpipe. Ever since I learned it, I've loved watching people dance it, I've loved dancing it myself, and I've loved imagining sailors and ships and voyages from that time period. I found these film clips on Youtube from the 1956 production, Moby Dick. It fits the time period I was thinking of, and had good shots for the images I had in my mind when I wrote the piece.

The main story I had running through my mind when I first began to compose A Sailor's Lullaby, was the life of a sailor. It started out "In the Cradle," a young infant destined to become a great Captain. I could see his mother caressing him, and singing to him about what lay ahead of him; his destiny.

After the opening segment, she begins to sing about the duties of being "The Young Cabin Boy." The notes are still higher-pitched, not as much so as the first section. It sounds chipper, and I can pictures a lad between the ages of 10 and 15, climbing ropes, scouting what's ahead, delivering messages to the captain, and dreaming of someday being the captain, himself. He's sure-footed and nimble, eager and adventurous. He loves the ocean and the smell of the salty waters, and spends time gazing down into the fathoms below. This is the longest section of the song, and it's also my personal favourite. The chords in the left-hand, (the lower notes,) I wrote to sound like waves. There's a lot of movement, and it sounds like tumbling waves. Not nasty, stormy, frightening ones, but gusty, choppy, beautiful swirling waves. The part in the middle of this section where the music changes into major, the melody gave me the impression of a sunrise, and a sunset. (0:53-1:23) The major to minor tune portrayed to me the image of a sunrise to a sunset, or, the cycle of time. Over and over in the video I made, I purposely put in videos of sunsets or sunrises over the waters.

"The First Mate," is the time in his life, perhaps between the ages of 18 and 25, where he is moving up the ranks and becoming a sea-hardened, furious, strong sailor. I can see him beginning to command the crew, and earning favour in the eyes of his aging captain. The tone deepens and the wave-like music becomes more intense, for a storm is brewing. It is still somehwat nimble and quick, but is hardening and becoming much more solid.

Out of the blue, the chords are fast and furious. Though the recording didn't capture the original volume and intensity that I wanted, this is the loudest part of the song. The waves are hammering, the thunder is deafening, the storm is at its peak. This seaworthy captain, the boy who has been on the sea for more of his life than on land, has earned the right to Captain. I see him yelling with rage at the sea as he hangs on to the wheel for dear life. The rain is pelting and things look bleak. Interpret it in any way you will, but the phrase I had in my mind was, "The captain always goes down with his ship." He died at sea, perhaps. Or maybe, in this desperate struggle against the unfriendly elements, his thoughts returned to the life he has lived thus far, and that is why the music fades out. Between dramatic pauses, I returned to each of the other themes: First Mate, Cabin Boy, and finally, back to the cradle. This was the lullaby his mother had just sung to him- a prayer of safety, a belief that he will someday be a great Captain, and the love for the ocean that she instilled in his heart.

I tried to incorporate a 'Celtic feel' into the piece by the chord progressions and chromatic steps, and I tried to create images of rolling waves through the quick arpeggios. You'll notice the recurring tune in this song, usually at the end of each little phrase. Each time, however, it is altered slightly to fit the time of his life. It goes from slow and melancholy, to quick, eager and happy, to bold, strong, and daring, to fierce, gallant, and severe. Though I didn't consciously make it so, when I got to the ending and decided to tie it all together by going down through the ranks back to his innocent infancy, and to the crooning voice of his singing mother, I realized that the theme of the song could be 'Growing Up,' but also, 'The Impact of Childhood Lessons.' It's as though the words of his mother came back to him through every stage of his life, though he was so young when he heard them.

It's a beautiful thought, one that made me content and happy to think about. I know that someday soon I will leave my home and family that I have been with for so long, and I wonder when and how the lessons they've taught me will come to mind when I'm on my own . . . . Perhaps I've been taking them for granted.

10.26.13

Uncertainty. -- Karis Rashleigh

Last year, for about a week straight, I went to bed every night with this story taking shape in my mind. It's a true story- every bit of it. Well, I suppose it's more of a memoir than a real story. It is a memory that I have from my childhood, when I still lived on Canada's West Coast- Vancouver Island. This story takes place on Quadra Island, at a place called Camp Qwanoes. I must have been in grade two or so, maybe about to enter into third grade. All I know for certain is that it was my first time ever kayaking alone- and the best experience ever.
 

A friend of my family is a world-renowned kayak-designer, and even spent time coaching Canada's Olympic kayaking team. He spends all the time he can on the ocean, and that was the year he taught me how to kayak. I used a kayak that he had designed and helped build, and I was scared, that's for sure. But once I got into the rhythm of paddling- there was no stopping me. The next morning after I had learned how, I got up with the sunrise and scampered out to the waterfront.
 

As I thought up the wording of this memoir in my mind going to sleep, it was some of the nicest, calmest moments I can remember. Even now, as I reread it, I keep sighing with contentment. As I dreamed it up, as I wrote it down, and as I read it again, I am just flooded with the amazing memory of that beautiful morning adventure. I remember it perfectly clearly, even though it happened over eight years ago.
 

That Saturday that I decided to write it all down . . . it took me seven hours. I took breaks in between, of course, but seven hours I worked away at my computer, letting my memories pour out through my fingers and onto my screen. I wanted it to be perfect. It took a lot out of me and I was exhausted by the end, but so pleased.
 

Memories such as this one, memories of the ocean and of Beautiful British Columbia make me a little sad inside. Okay, maybe very sad. I miss the beauty- the incredible scenery that I was surrounded with every day. I took forests, ocean, and mountains for granted. Now, I desire to have those things again. However, I feel somewhat torn between Three Hills, and Brentwood Bay. My dad preached in our chapel about the terrible things that went on in my old hometown. We lived right next door to what was known as the Satanic Capital of Canada. I never knew that, I was too little. Now, looking back, and I remember the things people at my school talked to me about. I was completely oblivious, ignorantly listening in curiosity- but now I realize what they had been telling me about. Rituals and practices, demonic doings and Native beliefs were constantly being impressed upon me.
 

Here, in little ol' Three Hills, I love the community we have at our school. Of course I realize there are bad things going on nearby- there always will be. It's definitely not to the extent that it was in Brentwood, though. Here there are whole different issues. Even though I'm surrounded by Christians and friends, I miss BC so much. If I could bring my friends, my church, basically- this town, and put it in place of Brentwood Bay, it would be perfect. I realized, though, that the reason I loved Brentwood Bay so much was because I was so little, and everyone was nice to me. Usually people don't have that many troubles when they're in elementary school. Now, if I went back and went to the high school there- I would be bombarded with drugs and peer pressure and bullying and every other terrible thing teenagers are into these days. And maybe... just maybe... that would be a good thing.
 

I feel somewhat stale here, like I'm not doing much to further God's Kingdom. It's hard when Christians are the majority of the population. If I went back to Brentwood Bay, I'm positive my faith would actually be put to the test. My best friend told me how, in her class, when her teacher brought up the subject of abortion, my friend was the only one in the entire class against it- and the only one who actually spoke up. No one argued her except for the teacher. Nobody else cared. They just assumed abortion was okay, and then tuned out.
I want to go there, or somewhere like it, where I can actually stand out! 
 

Okay... it seems my response on my memoir turned into somewhat of a blog post. Ah, well. In short- BC is gorgeous, but it needs help.

11.11.13

O Church Arise - Keith and Kristyn Getty

 

A few words came to mind when I first heard this song... which was yesterday, at church. Resounding. Inspiring. Motivating. Exciting. Chilling. Hopeful. Encouraging. Booming. Rich. Exhilarating. Electrifying. Moving.

You have probably noticed by now that battle/war is pretty near the top of my list of things that excite me. Without a doubt, my favourite Christianity comparison is when it is compared with armies, war, and battle. I love it!!! 

This song is just perfect. It sounds like a march. I love the words it uses to describe the Army of God. It's an army of angels, cherubim, and seraphim- but we are a part of it too. As I'm listening to it, the hair on the back of my neck is rising, and I'm covered in goosebumps. The melody, the progression of chords is just so, that I can't help but shudder in excitement.

Brilliant lyrics. Moving metaphors. The very opening lines totally draw me in: "O Church Arise, and put your armor on, Hear the call of Christ our Captain!" If there's an image that gets me excited to serve God, it's that one. We are his soldiers. He is our Captain. We will charge with courage because, whether we live or die, "the outcome is secure!" 

"An army bold, whose battle cry is, 'Love!' Reaching out to those in darkness." That is an incredibly beautiful picture in my mind. It's a battlefield out there, and Satan's army lies in wait, trying to pull us down and mute our battle cry. But love has come, and love has won. We are the weak and we have been made strong, with the strength that God has given us! 

This song is a perfect example of why people don't believe in Christ. It's because when they see His army doing their job, it doesn't make sense. We go against the flow. We do things opposite from what the world says to do. This song is full of what seem like oxymorons, but are really truth. "An army bold, whose battle cry is, 'Love!'" Most armies fight with bloodthirsty hearts of revenge and rage. We fight with and for love. "And with the sword that makes the wounded whole." What a backwards way of thinking. Our weapon is the Bible- and it heals, rather than destroys. It cures people, and saves them. 

I love the third verse. It's just mesmerizing. "Come see the cross, where love and mercy meet; As the Son of God is stricken. Then see his foes lie crushed beneath his feet, for the Conqueror has risen!" I just picture the scene: I walk up to the cross, and see Jesus' wounded, dead body hanging there. Just as I am feeling overpowered by awe and unworthiness, I turn around, and see the field lying around the foot of the cross. It is covered with the remains of Satan's army. As I turn back in shock toward Jesus, whom I just saw dead, I jump back when I see he is standing right behind me, risen, glorious, a triumphant Conqueror.

"This vict'ry march continues til the day Ev'ry eye and heart shall see Him." I can't WAIT til that day, when we see the proof with our own eyes that our struggle was not in vain. And with that line as well, it helps me understand why Paul told us, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds." We are on the winning side- what's to fear? The battle is over, this is just the victory march! Christ has come, Christ has won, and we are here to save His 'inheritance of nations.' 

That last verse is so great. It just makes me what to sell everything I have, go live on the streets, or fly to a poor country somewhere and start evangelizing! I'm so restless here in Three Hills- I want to start spreading Jesus!!! "That we may run with faith to win the prize of a servant good and faithful." I love love LOVE that part. Every time I think about everything I could be doing to further God's kingdom, the more the fire in my heart is stoked. That is my ultimate goal. When I get to heaven, that's what I pray I'll hear. "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

*Sigh of excitement*

3.23.14

Authors of History -- Karis Rashleigh

As the seconds tick by, I feel they won't pass

I rush out as soon as the bell ends the class

Don't really think about what happened there-

Missing the moments, but don't really care.

Run down the halls and just skid to my chair,

Whip out my papers- the teacher's not there.

In two seconds flat I am wrapped in my book-

When the teacher comes I hardly care to look.

Is this really what is expected of me?

Been at this for years, so shouldn't I be

Just a little more aware of what's going on

But instead I keep doing what I know is wrong.

So before I know it, I'm in my blue gown

Strolling up the aisle with my eyes cast down.

This chapter of life has finished so quick

And I've paid no attention; I’ve missed most of it.

No special requests or opportunities come,

People know now that I'm just not the one

All of classmates whom I hardly knew

Are off on adventures, and earning more, too.

I deeply regret the choices I've made

The absence of friendship is one way I've paid

The beginning of the rest of my life starts now

And I work to redeem myself, somehow.

On the verge of tears at all the moments I've missed

Memories that now nearly cease to exist.

Skipping, playing, getting tucked in and kissed,

Learning, singing, and on goes the list.

The memories I could've had are precious, no doubt,

But I'll live life today- I have yet to strike out.

The past is gone and there's no turning back

to fix what's been broken and find what I lack.

So don't miss out on memories to be,

Each day of our lives we're writing history.

3.23.14

Lady Edwena -- Karis Rashleigh

The Céilidh in the woods shan’t soon be forgotten,

What with the ladies and one heart so rotten.

She’d twirl and she’d swirl and she’d lure them to join her,

Attracting the swells in whose pockets the coins were.

‘Round and round, drawing envious eyes

To the exquisite beauty concealing her lies.

Sparkling scarlet swathed her smooth skin,

Edwena- her name etched onto her hairpin

That held back the perfectly combed wavy hair

as red as her lips, and as light as the air.

‘Round and round silky locks softly fly

To flatter her charm and conceal her lies.

At once, the mayor stood- the first dance be his right,

And eagerly started the party that night.

The fiddles sang out and the flutes serenade

The lively Celts dancing there, down in the glade.

‘Round and round, what could his wealth buy?

Her covetous fingers obeyed her green eyes.

The tempo was hastened, Edwena’s eyes gleamed,

The mayor, he was thrilled at his opportunity.

They spun ‘cross the clearing and spun back a way’s,

The whole while Edwena’s stealthy fingers obeyed.

‘Round and round, she locked eyes with his gaze

While her greedy long fingers satisfied her crave.

Aye, the mayor, he was breathless and declared it high time

To respite and recoup and, to mostly drink wine..

He bowed to the Lady and she deeply curtsied,

The mayor then walked off feeling quite proud, indeed.

‘Round and round he had yet to discover

Edwena’s cruel scheme and her lies to uncover.

And just as predicted, he sat down to share

Of his pleasurable dance with the lady so far.

He settled right down with his wine and a chair.

‘Twas then that he noticed a peculiar feeling;

His pockets were empty- someone was stealing.

He fretfully felt for his coins, his mind reeling.

His thoughts weren’t directed at first to the dance,

Though Edwena’s fingers had been close to his pants.

His wide open pockets had been picked with ease,

But would he be the one to proclaim his follies?

‘Round and round, he watched her go on-

Her poise like a swan and her partner’s wealth, gone.

And soon, one by one, every gentleman there

Was broke and humiliated beyond repair.

Each man robbed of his riches, but too proud to admit it,

They stood there and witnessed each crime be committed.

They stood there, struck dumb, and observed every theft,

Until soon, all the poverty-stricken lads left.

The culprit, Edwena, in all her delight

Glanced about, laughing at the gentlemen’s plight.

Admiring her talents and quick clever wit,

She felt for her purse- and that was just it.

Her conceited plot was now too hard to hide,

Everyone knew how the Lady had lied.

‘Round and round, the story replayed,

‘til the hour struck twelve; silence entered the glade.

Edwena had thought that the night was now done,

And she eagerly thought of the trophies she’d won.

Her thoughts of herself were now quite high, indeed,

The boy to the side played his pipe made of reeds.

She didn’t care, he was better off there

Than dancing with her, where he would best beware.

Nevertheless, when he saw her depart,

He hailed her down, and tested her heart.

“May I ask that you check your purse, Ma’am, and do hurry,

There’s a crook around here, I don’t want you to worry!”

How daft could he be? But she played dumb and took

Up her purse with the prizes and had a quick look.

She gasped and she checked every cranny and nook.

But how could it be? She grasped it, and shook.

Alas, her face blazing as red as her dress,

She glared at the lad who had caused her distress.

She was the thief and, in fact, proud oto be!

And yet, here she stood- an empty purse, held she.

‘Round and round, the tides had turned

And the one who had played with the fire was burned.

The now livid lass strutted to the young lad,

A boy barely of age, a thin rod clothed in plaid.

“Now tell me, lest you would be stripped of your funds,

Where are my coins, my gems, my fortunes?”

The lad simply grinned at his talents and wit,

And clamped his mouth shut- let her fume for a bit.

He’d teach her a lesson: She’d never again

Play a trick at the Céilidh on those pompous men.

She watched in disgust and in shame as the lad

Produced from his pocket the goldmine he had.

The coins looked familiar, the gems caught her eye;

Her quick, clever tongue fabricated her lie.

“Why, of all things, young sir, you have found my lost gifts!

They must have dropped out of my purse through the rifts!”

She reached out to take them, he snatched them away.

“That won’t work again, Miss, your lies are cliché.

I know all your secrets, you terrible liar.

Perhaps this will teach you to not play with fire.

Your mind was distracted by my jingling pockets

That you did not notice when I swiped your wallet!

They joke’s on you now, Miss, I’m sorry to say

That your prank is now over, and you’ll have to pay.”

Edwena was shocked- outwitted by a boy?

She knew now that she could no longer play coy.

She had been found out, he’d discovered her sin,

The Miss had a taste of her own medicine.

‘Round and round, is that not how it goes?

Deceit was the ill-fated path that she chose.

When all’d been found out, Edwena in shame

Had to repay each gentleman and apologize by name.

The lad was awarded  a bright golden plaque

For his cunning, integrity, and paying her back.

‘Round and round, all was ‘counted for,

Fair Maiden Edwena left town hard and sore.

The ball at the Céilidh shan’t soon be forgotten,

The dance in the forest and one heart so rotten.

The men now protect their own valuables there,

The ladies despise now the one once so fair.

‘Round and round, the Celts will dance on,

The cheer and the music will ring clear ‘till dawn.