"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats: Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? Yeats’ Philosophies in “The Second Coming” William Butler Yeats spent much of his life constructing his philosophy, pulling from mythologies and religions, as well as, teachings of famous philosophers like Nietzsche. He practiced automatic writing, through which he believed he could tap into a collective unconscious, which he called the Spiritus Mundi. He presented many aspects of this philosophy in his poetry, especially in “The Second Coming,” much of which can only be understood through his book, A Vision, where he attempted to present his ideas in their entirety. Only through analyzing “The Second Coming” with his philosophical ideals in mind, namely Nietzschean philosophy and his theory of “The Great Wheel,” can the reader fully understand Yeats’ message. Disturbed by the atrocities of the First World War and searching for the root of humanity’s evils, Yeats turned to the Nietzschean theories of cyclical history and warring forces. Nietzsche believed in ewige Wiederkehr, or Eternal Recurrence, which holds that all life exists in a warring cycle of two opposing forces. Yeats expanded this idea to create his theory of the “Great Wheel” or “Wheel of Time,” a life cycle consisting of 28 phases coinciding with the phases of the moon. Yeats believed, as Nietzsche did, that each person was reincarnated. However, in his theory, an individual’s soul is cycled through each phase of the wheel, alternating every 2000 years between opposing epochs, which Yeats deemed the Primary and Antithetical ages. Stemming from Nietzsche’s theory of Apollonian and Dionysian forces, opposing forces of art and intoxication, Yeats utilizes the Primary and Antithetical to represent the conflicting motivations of humanity and account for mass tragedies. He believed these forces existed in both the personal state and as ages on the Wheel of Time. This further emphasizes his belief in a dominating spiritual realm that controls not only the universe but also the individual. Within the first four lines, Yeats introduces his idea of the spinning gyres and establishes his belief in a growing Primary force. Yeats believed the Primary and Antithetical forces manifested themselves in a person’s soul as spiral vortexes. The closer one was to the center, the more antithetical they were, and vice versa. The Antithetical, rooted in Nietzsche’s Apollonian, represents everything artistic and beautiful, while the Primary, the Dionysian, is the “dark” force, from which all life stems. These can more loosely be applied to the inner drives of self-control/aspiration and self-destruction. Lines one through four express these beliefs. Yeats says, “Turning and turning in the widening gyre / The falcon cannot hear the falconer / Things fall apart; the center cannot hold / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world” (lines 1-4). Were the gyre turning toward the Antithetical, the falcon, representative of the individual and society, would be moving toward the falconer, an image Yeats uses as a representation of God and spirituality. However, in Yeats’ image, the falcon is separated from the falconer and this separation brings about anarchy. Within these first lines, Yeats establishes the focus of his poem: humanity’s separation from the Antithetical and the growing Primary force. Yeats believed the Primary and Antithetical forces embody two polarities on the Wheel of Time. Phase One, complete darkness, represents the beginning of the Primary period, and Phase 15, complete light, represents the Antithetical. Emphasizing his desperation during this destructive age, Yeats begins his second stanza with the exclamation, “Surely some revelation is at hand” (line 9). Given the events of WWI, it is understandable that Yeats felt his time was approaching the Primary age, an age where inner gyres become almost purely Primary, humanity falls victim to their base desires, and the world begins a period of self-destruction. In the Primary phase, Yeats believed, those who are more Antithetical, and therefore understand the dangers of Primary behaviors, are unable to act upon their moral “conviction” because they are surrounded by the Primary forces of others and the universe (line 7). This perhaps is his attempt to understand why people like himself could see the injustices of their world and be unable to change it. If the universe is contained in a predestined cycle of good and evil and each person is powerless in the scheme of their lives, then the evils of the world are not so much the fault of society, but more so part of the overarching plan of a divine being, and therefore not capable of being fully understood. In Yeats’ second stanza, he describes a spiritual vision he has of the coming Primary age, and, in doing so, outlines his overall philosophical claim. Through “a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi,” (line 12) Yeats sees an animal with the body of a lion and “the head of a man” (line 14) moving through the desert while “darkness drops again” (line 18). He questions what “rough beast…slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” (line 22). In his poetry, Yeats often depicted the First Phase as a “beast” and utilized it as a symbol for death both in a metaphorical and literal sense. Here, he chooses to specify that the “beast” is a Sphinx. This is perhaps a reference to Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil, in which he used the myth of Oedipus and the Sphinx to introduce the Dionysian self. In this myth, the Sphinx would prompt a person with riddles and eat them should their answer be wrong. Nietzsche asks “Is it any wonder…that we should finally learn from this Sphinx to ask questions, too? Who is it really that puts questions to us here? What in us really wants ‘truth’?...Who of us is Oedipus here? Who the Sphinx?” (9). Nietzsche contends that though we believe ourselves to be Oedipus in our quest for understanding, we attempt to act as both. The universe is unknowable, yet we strive for an answer, therefore, we pose a riddle we, ourselves, can never solve. Nietzsche argued that one’s quest for full understanding was driven by the main motivation of the Dionysian force: a desire to exert control. In the first stanza, Yeats suggests, through the symbol of the falcon, that humanity has drifted from God. Here, he explains how. In attempting to gain control through full understanding, humanity has determined that their wisdom is equal to that of God in that they believe themselves capable of understanding a system greater and more complicated than they will ever be. This inflated sense of self leads people to act as if there is no higher being than themselves, so they engage in Primary behaviors, which leads to travesty, and separates them further from the Antithetical. Yeats further illustrates humanity’s separation from the Antithetical, specifically their separation from spiritualism, through the symbol of the “indignant desert birds” flying above the sphinx as it crawls across the desert. Though Yeats does not specify what species of bird these are, because he often used birds as symbols of the Antithetical age, the reader can assume that these birds are symbolic of the Antithetical age, as well. The lack of specificity is not concerning, though, as Yeats’ focus lies not in their species but in their indignance. They resent the Sphinx but do not attack it. Yeats writes that their “shadows,” not their bodies, “reel” around the Sphinx (line 17). Like the warring Primary and Antithetical ages, the birds are engaged in a battle with a force they cannot physically affect. In 1882, Nietzsche wrote his famous words, “God is Dead,” as a response to what he saw as the decay of Christianity and a rise in shallow materialism, a trend he believed would lead to mass self-destruction. Yeats, living amidst a post-war world, most likely saw Nietzsche’s warning as having come to fruition, choosing to symbolize this through the image of the Sphinx and its separation from the “desert birds.” Though at first Yeats’ poem may seem pessimistic, in actuality it is an admission of powerlessness, and therefore an attempt on Yeats’ part to find peace in his troubling world. Yeats hoped that others, as he did, could find solace in the idea of a predetermined cycle of time. Often referred to as “amor fati” or “the love of fate,” Yeats found a great sense of peace in knowing he had no control over his life. In his philosophy, there was no eternal death or destruction, only temporary phases on the Wheel of Time, which always shifted to periods of light. He could control nothing, but he saw the ever-shifting nature of life as a sign that he was part of something greater. Amidst all the turmoil of a Primary world where “things fall apart,” anarchy grows, “blood-dimmed tides” flow, and “rough beasts” lurk in the desert, Yeats chose to include markers of hope. Although the falcon drifts from the falconer, the falconer remains. Yeats says, “The falcon cannot hear the falconer,” implying that the falconer has not left and still calls to the bird, but it is too far to hear him (line 2). In a religious sense, this means that even though humanity has drifted from God, God has not abandoned them. In the aspect of the Wheel of Time, this emphasizes Yeats’ message that the Primary will not reign forever. This is also seen in his choice to overcast the image of the Sphinx with shadows of the “desert birds,” portraying the idea of a reigning Antithetical force amidst an approaching Primary age. Although Yeats believed the world was entering a dark Primary era, he also understood that this was part of the grand scheme of time and found solace in the belief that this was only a temporary phase on the wheel. “The Second Coming” is not a poem about destruction and death at the hands of a monstrous beast. It is a poem written by a man attempting to understand a post-war world who believed and found comfort in believing he was part of an eternal spiritual realm. Drawing on Nietzsche’s theory of competing forces and cyclical history, Yeats constructed a variation of these ideas around which he shaped his philosophy. He posited that each individual cycled through an eternal Wheel of Time, alternating every 2,000 years between dominating Antithetical and Primary forces. He believed that within the individual, these forces resembled spiral vortexes that remain in conflict, as they do at the societal level, which accounts for the evils and injustices of the world. Although he displays the darkness and dangers of the Primary age he also provides aspects of hope in the images of the falconer and the birds as symbols of the Antithetical age that will one day regain control. Yeats hoped that in his poem readers could find comfort in the idea of an uncontrollable eternal world that for every bad time provides a good one. In essence, “The Second Coming” is a poem about accepting one’s powerlessness and finding peace in the idea of a power greater than oneself with the understanding that death is not always the end.

Literature works as a reflection of the world around us. If we can understand the narrative, character development, and the emotional turmoil of a book, we can understand ourselves. In a speech made in Berlin, Teju Cole spoke on the importance of literature and the impact that it can have not just on one person but on all of society. What he presents is the idea that not only does literature tell a story or share a message, but it can spark an idea/emotion so visceral that it requires action, thereby affecting the whole world, all through writing. In this speech, he quotes a passage from the Mishnah, which states, “Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.” Literature is an intimate thing. It is an activity done in solace, with only the reader, the text, and the reader’s thoughts. It is powerful in that it tells not only the story of the character or the author but also the story of everyone who has lived or will live. It speaks of the most delicate parts of humanity, connecting itself in a specific, unique way with its readers. Teju Cole says, “Literature can save a life” and I agree. Books span cultures, countries, nationalities, and even languages when nothing else can. The question is, why? Why does something so simple as ink on paper affect us to such an extent that it is necessary to be translated and printed across the world? Why do we argue over the meaning of books and the author’s intent? The answer is that in every book there is a part of us. A shadow of who we are, were, or will be. Each of us hurts, feels joy, has ups and downs in our lives, loves, and yearns for something. Everyone has people and places in their lives that they love and care about and, therefore, can relate to books like Little House on the Prairie, The Outsiders, Franny and Zooey, As I Lay Dying, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, the Odyssey, or Old Yeller. Each of these books is different. Some are for children. Some are Young Adult novels or classics. Some are set in ancient Greece, the 1800s, 1960s Oklahoma, or a suburb in the 1990s. But despite these differences they each touch on a fundamental aspect of being human. They describe in detail the confusion and conflict of life: how simply existing can be difficult at times. Dogs die, families get separated, friends fight, and sometimes the people we love disappoint us. None of which are things contained to a time or place. Therefore, when we study a book, analyze it for hours, and reflect on its message, we are, inadvertently, reflecting on humanity, ourselves, and the universe. “The Library of Babel” by Jorge Luis Borges describes an infinite library, one with endless bookcases and spiraling staircases. In the opening lines, he describes the library as a “universe” and says, “Like all men of the Library, I have traveled in my day; I have wandered in search of a book.” In a sense, a library is a universe. It contains worlds unknown to anyone having not read the book (Treasure Island, Narnia, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Beowulf, or The Hobbit) and the ideas of people long passed whose voices can only be heard in between the pages of their books. An interesting article by Time Magazine explains the science behind the construction of human cells. They described how every element present in stardust can be found in the human body, thereby maintaining the idea that we and the universe are one. Of course, if one does the most minute amount of research, he/she will find that this is not a new idea, it has been purported by scientists for generations, but to seven-year-old me, it was mind boggling. To think that I could be related, even in a scientific sense, to something as great and vast as the stars was surprising and somewhat empowering. I now like to think of the world as Borges’ infinite library, where the words that create paragraphs, that create pages, that create stories, are the elements that compose stardust. Words are the building blocks of life. So, just as how, in the real world, we and stardust, at our elemental level, are the same, I maintain that people and stories, at our core, are no different. As they say, we are only the stories we tell ourselves and only as powerful as our words. Why, though? I think it is because our words (our stories) are in some way literally a piece of ourselves. We are made from carbon. Paper is made from carbon. The pencil that writes on a piece of paper (made from carbon) is also made from carbon. So, when a reader traverses the many rows of books in our infinite library searching for the perfect story, they are walking through a mosaic of carbon, i.e., a mosaic of themselves. The very same words that create books that sit on shelves in a library that make up the entirety of our universe were created by people like us and tell stories about us and are made up of the same elements that create us. We are stories passed down from one millennium to the next. As Borges would maintain, we are simply librarians scavenging an infinite library of words, searching for an ancient book that will give us a magical understanding of the complexities of the library (our universe) only to discover that knowledge and writings are infinite and thereby nothing can ever be truly understood, but what a great adventure it will be to try! As an English major, I have dedicated my life to the study of literature, to the stories of lives now past, and to the nature of humanity in all its glory and disgrace. As an educator, I want to pass this passion on to my students, so that they may understand the beauty of writing. I aim to help them see themselves in the stories of past and present generations, to be able to identify the commonalities between their families and the ones in books, and, thereby, develop a love and connection to their own and other's stories. I want them to see books not as things sitting on shelves but as a story waiting to be told. Understanding this concept, that books from decades or centuries ago may aid them in their present lives, is crucial to their development as well-adjusted human beings. As they say, if we do not learn from our past, we may be doomed to repeat it. In my career, I want to help students understand that books reflect upon universal problems and feelings, that they share ideas meant to alter one's thinking, and work as a lantern in the darkness. As Kate DiCamillo states in "The Tale of Despereaux," “The world is dark, and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. You must trust me. I am telling you a story.” In a world so dark, stories are the one thing that seems to survive. They offer an answer to the turmoil that we face. They reach the innermost depths of our souls despite differences, offering a roadmap to guide us along in this strange thing called life. Who needs a roadmap more than the young? As a teacher, I intend to provide a lantern in this dark and confusing world and hope that in doing so, I strike a flame of curiosity and intellect that they may later share with others.

My favorite book isn’t a literary masterpiece nor has it won any awards, but it changed my life. In 2019, I was in eighth grade and felt like time was progressing too fast. I was overwhelmed, filled with teenage anger, and felt out of place at my school. That was until I stumbled across a book by Russell Brand, a person I only knew from the movie, Bedtime Stories. The book’s title shone off its turquoise background in white lettering. Recovery: Freedom From Our Addictions. “I have no addictions,” I thought but began flipping through the pages anyway. I read the chapter heading, each titled after one of the 12 Steps, and turned to the introduction. The writing immediately gripped me and I read the first two chapters in one sitting, a rare occurrence for me at the time. I was struck by how relatable the story was. The introduction begins not in the crux of Brand’s addiction, but in adolescence, a time when he felt alone, insecure, and lost. He speaks about feeling outcast from his peers, despite having many friends, and ultimately finding solace in drugs and alcohol. At 14, I had never drank or done any drugs, nor have I now, but I understood his feelings of anxiety. I read his book vigorously that week, and although I can’t remember every part, I can remember the message that changed the entire course of my life: “You can’t control people, places, or things.” Brand posits that all of life’s struggles develop out of the belief that we have control over things outside of ourselves, when, in actuality, we only have control of our own actions. As I read this, I felt all my anxiety wash away. I found freedom in the idea that I had no control over what others thought of me, whether I would get into a good college, or even whether I would live another day, but I did have control over what I would do, think, and say. I could choose to be the best version of myself with every hour I was given and hope that it resulted in a good life. Since then, I have approached everything with this mindset and, so far, it has rewarded me with good friends, good relationships with my family, a good GPA, and hope for a better future.

When I was five, I wanted to be a taxi driver, a chimney sweeper, or a writer. Then, at twelve, I wanted to be either a NASCAR driver, a lawyer, or a writer. At fourteen, thinking it to be the most realistic and reliable career, I settled on lawyer and after graduation, at seventeen, was reminded of something vital. “You only get one chance at life, so you might as well pursue something you enjoy.” My mom told me that. My mom is my greatest inspiration. She doesn’t have a fancy job or a big house, but she carved out a life dedicated to my success. At three, my parents divorced and at four, I was being moved onto a college campus, where my mom would pursue her degree. At eight, I got to watch her graduate from college, which is probably one of my happiest memories. She now works for the Forest Service, which she enjoys. She’s worked hard in her life to make sure that I was taken care of and because of that, I have had the opportunities and the support necessary to strive for something that matters to me. Since I can remember, she was asking me “What are you going to be when you grow up?” It’s a common question and usually ends when given the answer of “Fireman” or “Astronaut,” but hers did not. “And how are you going to do that?” was always her follow-up question. When I said I wanted to be a NASCAR driver, she said “OK” and told me I needed to learn about cars. Once I tried, I quickly realized it was not a career I cared to pursue and moved on to other things, but I knew that had I chosen that path, my mom would have been right there by me, handing me socket wrenches and oil. I’m now 18, earning a degree in English Education, and planning to obtain a Ph.D. I hope to one day write a book, which in my head is a dream and in my mom’s is a given. I’ve been reading since I was four, and before that, my mom read to me every day. She took me to the library, used bookstores, and, of course, when we could afford it, Barnes and Noble. Our house was littered with books, and when I approached her in first grade with a short story written in messy handwriting on crumpled notebook paper, she did not say it was “cute” or belittle it as anything less than what I thought it was at the time, which was the beginnings of a grand novel. She did not laugh or grin or treat it as the act of a child. She treated me like an adult who had approached her with a manuscript. (I look back on this now with awe because I recently found that story, and it was definitely not “the beginnings of a grand novel.”) She sat down, read it, and said it was good and that I should keep trying until it was just as I imagined it and nothing less. I’ve approached everything I’ve done since then with that same attitude. Without her, there would be no me, both literally and figuratively. She’s helped me to get where I am today and has prepared me to endure any hardship or trial that comes my way. I hope I can be as helpful as she was to someone else someday.

Stephen King once said, “Writing isn’t about making money…it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life as well. It’s about…getting happy.” For many, writing is an escape, a way to alleviate the stresses and concerns that otherwise would be left bottled up, only to grow larger by the day. When I think of writing, I often think of a particular scene in Norman McClain’s book, "A River Runs Through It." He describes a fishing trip with his brother who was struggling with addiction and legal troubles, which Norman feels, as his brother, is his duty to fix. He stands in a secluded area of the Rocky Mountains, a waterfall crashing behind him, isolating every noise but his thoughts, and tries in vain to catch the “mythical Brown Trout.” On a first read, one wonders why so much attention is placed on this fish when the book’s conflict is his brother. He vividly describes every cast, which is a bit confusing to someone who does not fish. But, on a second read, I saw this was much more than a confusing fishing scene. It became clear that this parallels his failure to save his brother. The detailed description shows the enormity of Norman’s efforts and dedication. Norman tried every cast to catch the fish, just as he tried everything to save Paul. Yet, in both pursuits, he failed, which is the crux of his regret. After this realization, he makes a statement, which I believe sums up the purpose of writing. He states, “...it is not fly fishing if you are not looking for answers to questions.” When I visualize the pursuit of writing, I see a vast sea, and the story becomes a giant fish, “a mythical Brown Trout,” if you will. The author’s job then is to answer the question they cannot articulate in any other way and, in doing so, catch their fish. To me, writing is a form of meditation. I can go away in my mind for a while and it feels almost like going to sleep, like a sort of in-between space free from stress. I once heard David Lynch describe this as “getting dreamy.” The written word is powerful, specifically in that a reader will read words spoken by someone else in their voice, creating an intimacy between themselves and the author. Norman Maclean ends his book with, “Eventually, all things merge into one and a river runs through….Under the rocks are words and some of the words are theirs.” This is the power of literature to me. If we listen hard enough, we can hear the voices of generations past speaking to us. It’s a magical thing and one that has forever altered my life, which is something I want to do for others. I suppose my answer to the question “What would you do with an extra 24 hours?” should be that I would write more, but that would not be honest. I would spend it with my family and my community. I love my family, as I suppose most do, but between school and work, I always feel I’m missing out on time with them. They make me want to write and give me the courage to. For that, I’m forever grateful. I think I would also volunteer more. We’re only in this life for so long, and I hope I spend most of that time helping others in whatever form I can.

My favorite book series as a kid was "A Series of Unfortunate Events." I have a particular fondness for one scene in the 2004 movie adaptation. In this scene, the children are still mourning the loss of their parents and are sent to the evil Count Olaf’s house. He puts them in the attic, where they are forced to convert the cold, damp attic into a temporary home. They build a tent and use a flashlight to project a photo of their parents onto the sheet. The narrator then offers an interesting commentary. He states, “Sanctuary is a word which here means, a small safe place in a troubling world.” For me, my sanctuary is my mom. My mom is my cheerleader when no one else is. She’s my role model, hero, and the only parent I’ve ever had. She put herself through college and I got to see her graduate, which is one of the main highlights of my childhood. She can make a bad situation good and cheer me up when I’m sad. But most of all, she’s my favorite person ever because she’s the reason for my success. She taught me what determination looks like and how strong a person can be in the face of adversity. As a single parent, she had to play two roles as one person. She cooked, cleaned, attended parent-teacher conferences, drove me to school when she could, and planned birthday parties. She also taught me how to throw a baseball and how to drive, showed me how to change a tire, played basketball with me, and bandaged my knees when I fell off my skateboard. She was everything I needed, and I could never want anything more. From birth, she read to me, even when she had homework or was tired. Books like "Chicka Chicka, Boom Boom," "Brown Bear Brown Bear," and, of course, "A Series of Unfortunate Events" were in the daily rotation. She took me to the library and helped me with my homework. When I was older, she edited my essays and taught me how to study for midterms. She drove me to the SATs and paid for my dual credit classes. I truly believe that had she not been there to do all of this, I would not be attending college or studying to become a teacher. I am a naturally anxious person and college is an especially anxious place, but, just like when I was a kid, my mom is there to calm me down and be my “safe place.” As a teacher, I hope to be as supportive as she is. I want my future students to know how smart, capable, and talented they are and to never be afraid to ask for help. In a world that can be so cruel and difficult, I want my classroom to be a sanctuary, a safe place for students to be themselves and know that someone cares.

Behind the desks in any classroom sit future teachers, parents, police officers, firefighters, doctors, lawyers, and possibly even presidents. They are society’s next leaders and as such, will be faced with the responsibility of making decisions that affect not only them but their world, as well. It is vital for educators to recognize this and prepare students for the trials and tribulations that come with adulthood. One of the easiest ways to do this is to instill within them a love for literature, which I plan to do. As Harry S. Truman said, “Not all readers are leaders, but all leaders are readers.” At the high school level, (where I will be teaching) the goal in analyzing literature is no longer to learn the fundamentals of sentence structure but to understand how humanity and societal problems are presented in writing. Through studying things like symbolism, character development, and the historical backgrounds of books students not only gain cognitive thinking skills but also develop empathy, which is vitally important. As an English teacher, there are many approaches to teaching reading skills, however, two I see as being most important: independent reading and class participation/discussions. The only way for a student to become a life-long reader is for them to become comfortable with independent reading. Reading competitions or simply having a class library are great ways to encourage this but I think the best approach I have seen is to assign projects that require students to use self-picked books. This is an opportunity for students to build a particular literary “taste.” For example, during my teacher observations, my coordinating teacher had her students pick a book and write a paper where they analyzed symbolism and literary devices the author used throughout the story. Many students said that they didn’t know what kind of books they liked and she was able to help them pick books that she felt fit their personalities. This approach shows the student that the teacher cares and opens students up to genres of books that they may not find in the standard required readings. After this project, she had five students tell her that before this assignment, they hated reading, but now, because of her book suggestion, they started a books club, i.e., they are now readers. Due to the apparent productiveness that this technique produced, I plan to incorporate assignments like this in my future classroom. The second tactic I plan to use is class discussions. There is one project in particular that I am excited to utilize, and it goes as follows: First, the class is divided into groups and is assigned a chapter from whatever book the class is reading. They are then told to analyze it as far as symbolism and character development. Next, they are told to write a short description of how they think the story will unfold solely from what they read in the chapter. Once everyone has completed these steps, the class discusses what they found and compares the various theories. Seeing how everyone’s ideas compare to the storyline is interesting. I like this approach because it leaves room for the students to explore their creativity, which is sometimes neglected in schools. If students gain a love for reading, they gain a love for the world and themselves, which is the most valuable skill I hope to instill in my students.

Literature works as a reflection of the world around us. If we can understand a narrative, character development, and the emotional turmoil of a book, we can understand ourselves. In a speech made in Berlin, Teju Cole spoke on the importance of literature and the impact that it can have not just on one person but on all of society. What he presents is the idea that not only does literature tell a story or share a message, but it can spark an idea/emotion so visceral that it requires action, thereby affecting the whole world, all through writing. In this speech, he quotes a passage from the Mishnah, which states, “Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.” Literature is an intimate thing. It is an activity done in solace, with only the reader, the text, and the reader’s thoughts. It is powerful in that it tells not only the story of the character or the author but also the story of everyone who has lived or will live. It speaks on the most delicate parts of humanity, connecting itself in a specific, unique way with its readers. Teju Cole says, “Literature can save a life” and I agree. Books span cultures, countries, nationalities, and even languages when nothing else can. The question is, why? Why does something so simple as ink on paper affect us to such an extent that it is necessary to be translated and printed across the world? Why do we argue over the meaning of books and the author’s intent? The answer is that in every book there is a part of us. A shadow of who we are, were, or will be. Each of us hurts, feels joy, has ups and downs in our lives, loves, and yearns for something. Everyone has family or friends, and if not that, they will most likely have at least a dog and, therefore, can relate to books like Little House on the Prairie, The Outsiders, Franny and Zooey, As I Lay Dying, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, the Odyssey, or Old Yeller. Each of these books is different. Some are for children. Some are Young Adult novels or classics. Some are set in ancient Greece, the 1800s, 1960s Oklahoma, or a suburb in the 1990s. But despite, these differences they each touch on a fundamental aspect of being human. They describe in detail the confusion and conflict of being human; how simply existing can be difficult at times. Dogs die, families get separated, friends fight, and sometimes the people we love disappoint us. None of which are things contained to a time or place. Therefore, when we study a book, analyze it for hours, and reflect on its message, we are, inadvertently, reflecting on humanity, ourselves, and the universe. In “The Library of Babel” by Jorge Luis Borges, describes an infinite library. One with endless bookcases and spiraling staircases. In the opening lines, he describes the library as a “universe” and says, “Like all men of the Library, I have traveled in my day; I have wandered in search of a book.” In a sense, a library is a universe. It contains worlds unknown to anyone having not read the book (Treasure Island, Narnia, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Beowulf, or The Hobbit) and the ideas of people long passed whose voices can only be heard in between the pages of their books. An interesting article by Time Magazine explains the science behind the construction of the human body. They described how every element present in stardust can be found in the human body and, therefore, we are constructed of stardust (or vice versa depending on your preference), thereby maintaining the idea that we and the universe are one. Of course, if one does the most minute amount of research, he/she will find that this is not a new idea, it has been purported by scientists for generations, but to seven-year-old me, it was mindboggling. I now like to think of the world as Borges’ infinite library, where the words that create paragraphs, that create pages, that create stories, are the elements that compose stardust. Words are the building blocks of life. So, just as, in the real world, we and stardust, at our elemental level, are the same, I maintain that people and stories, at our core, are no different. As they say, we are only the stories we tell ourselves. We are as powerful as our words. Why? Because our words, our stories, are us. We are made from carbon. Paper is made from carbon. The pencil that writes on a piece of paper (made from carbon) is also made from carbon. So, when a reader traverses the many rows of books in our infinite library searching for the perfect story, they are walking through a mosaic of carbon, i.e., a mosaic of themselves. The very same words that create books that sit on shelves in a library that make up the entirety of our universe were created by people like us and tell stories about us and are made up of the same elements that create us. We are stories passed down from one millennium to the next. As Borges would maintain, we are simply librarians scavenging an infinite library of words, searching for an ancient book that will give us a magical understanding of the complexities of the library (our universe) only to discover that knowledge and writings are infinite and thereby nothing can ever be truly understood, but what a great adventure will it be to try! As an English major, I have dedicated my life to the study of literature, to the stories of lives now past, and to the nature of humanity in all its glory and disgrace. As an educator, I want to pass this passion on to my students, so that they may understand the beauty of writing. I aim to help them see themselves in the stories of past and present generations, to be able to identify the commonalities between their families and the ones in books, and, thereby, develop a love and connection to their own and other's stories. I want them to see books not as things sitting on shelves but as a story waiting to be told. Understanding this concept, that books from decades or centuries ago may aid them in their present lives, is crucial to their development as well-adjusted human beings. As they say, if we do not learn from our past, we may be doomed to repeat it. In my career, I want to help students understand that books reflect upon universal problems and feelings, that they share ideas meant to alter one's thinking, and work as a lantern in the darkness. As Kate DiCamillo states in The Tale of Despereaux, “The world is dark, and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. You must trust me. I am telling you a story.” In a world so dark, stories are the one thing that seems to survive. They offer an answer to the turmoil that we face. They reach the innermost depths of our souls despite differences, offering a roadmap to guide us along in this strange thing called life. Who needs a roadmap more than the young? As a teacher, I intend to provide a lantern in this dark and confusing world and hope that in doing so, I strike a flame of curiosity and intellect that they may later share with others.

In our world, we accept the hardships that people face. Homelessness, debt, war, and political division are a part of life. However, with all of these struggles and sadness, we find a silver lining. One of the highlights of my childhood was Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. He taught the importance of kindness, acceptance, respecting yourself, and making a difference. He instilled in me a pride in who I am and a desire to help others. When I was older, I read a quote of his that has stuck with me. It goes as follows: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” My mother emphasized the belief that “one good deed inspires another.” She not only spoke these words, she lived them. From feeding the homeless to helping me organize my first donation distribution for low-income students. She is one of “the helpers.” For instance, we were once shopping with my aunt and were driving through the busy streets of Las Cruces when my mom asked my aunt to stop the car “immediately,” she said. She got out and ran into a Mexican restaurant. We waited and waited and then she came out with a big brown bag. We watched as she walked to a woman bundled in jackets and blankets with a sign saying “God Bless.” My aunt turned to me and said, “She can never not help people.” In a world that can seem so cruel and uncaring, it encourages me to know that the people who “can never not help,” like my mom or Mr. Rogers, will inspire others to “never not help.” I know it inspired me. At 14, I began volunteering. I did simple things at first, such as working for the United States Forest Service during the summers as a helper in their recreation department and an administrative assistant. Then I moved on to bigger things like organizing a donation distribution of school supplies for low-income students and another for a head start. Around this time of volunteering and organizing the school supply distribution, I noticed a need for tutors in my school. To fulfill this need, I started offering tutoring sessions during the summer and began a tutoring hour before school. Here, I found my “calling,” so to speak. I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be “a helper.” As students, we learn so much from our teachers, and I’m not talking about things like y=mx+b. From my art teacher, I learned that perspective is everything. If you ever feel insecure about yourself, ask for someone else’s opinion. It will most likely be better than your own and possibly more accurate. We are often worse critics of ourselves than anyone else. My history teacher taught me to value the stories of those older and wiser than you, as they have most likely walked a similar path. And from my English teacher, I learned to appreciate the power of words. Daniel Handler, aka Lemony Snicket, wrote in Who Could That Be at This Hour? that “...in every library, there is a single book that can answer the question that burns like a fire in the mind.” If I could, I would edit this to say, “...that burns like a fire in the heart,” as books are not solely intellectual tools. They teach us to feel, love, and have faith in a world of darkness. As Kate Dicamillo states in The Tale of Despeaux, “Stories are light [and] light is precious in a world so dark.” I would say our world is pretty dark right now. Multiple countries are at war, an election is creeping up on us, and the country’s economic state is questionable at best. In a world so dark, I want to be able to offer hope to students in a way they can connect to personally. I want to help them find their “calling” so that when they enter into this dark world, they will have a torch to light the way.

“The world is dark, and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. I am telling you a story.” This is the opening line of “The Tale of Despereaux” by Kate DiCamillo. Books are not only entertainment. They are a way of understanding the world in a deeper way. Each book is based on the author’s beliefs and experiences, which result in unique stories that the reader can then interpret for themselves. This creates a personal relationship between the reader and the book, which follows and shapes them throughout their lives. It's an intricate artform that relates to each person differently. Books have always been a part of my life. As a toddler, my favorite book was “Go, Dog. Go!” In elementary school, it was “The Boxcar Children: The Mystery Behind the Wall.” In middle school, it was the “Series of Unfortunate Events” books. In High School, I was reading so much I could no longer pick a favorite, however, some contestants were “The Catcher in the Rye” and “Franny and Zooey” by J.D. Salinger, “The Book Thief” by Marcus Zusak, “Desolation Angels” by Jack Kerouac, “Beautiful Boy” and “The Buddhist on Death Row” by David Sheff, and “A River Runs Through It” by Norman Maclean. One book in particular has stuck with me throughout my entire life, always present in the back of my mind. That book is “The Tale of Despereaux.” It tells the story of a mouse born to a family who did not want him, to a community who did not understand him and led into a situation that no one thought he would survive. Yet, he survives all of this and makes many friends along the way. He encounters other characters who feel unwanted or out of place. He meets a rat who lives in the dungeon of a castle, a servant-girl who feels ugly and dreams of becoming the princess, and, eventually, he meets the princess herself, who wishes to become closer to her father who is mourning the death of his wife. Every character has to overcome their own obstacles and is helped by the most unlikely of characters: the smallest mouse in the land, who was thought to be the weakest of his kind, yet who becomes the hero of the story. He saves the kingdom by reuniting the royal family, freeing the rat from the dungeon, and helping the servant-girl become confident. This story taught me that no matter how small or insecure we may feel at times, we can overcome any obstacle if we stay true to ourselves and persevere. This story encouraged me in elementary school, when I was having trouble with bullies, in middle school when I felt out-of-place, and in high school when I was competing in competitions and activities I had never done before. Now that I am in college, I think of this book and of Desperaux when I feel nervous about the world ahead of me. My love of books has inspired me to pursue my degree in English Education in the Fall. I hope to bring the joy of reading to my future students and, hopefully, bring the “precious” light of literature into their lives for them to connect with and interpret for themselves. Books are a powerful tool in a person’s life. They shape worldviews and spark conversations. I want to convey this sense of importance to my future students when discussing books in class. Books have brought me immense joy throughout my life and I look forward to providing this joy to many others in the future.

The saying, "mitzvah goreret mitzvah, averah goreret averah" translates to "one good deed will bring another good deed, one transgression will bring another transgression." This saying teaches that one mitzvah can lead to another until it forms a habit within one's life to the point that they unknowing perform mitzvot. These actions can then be seen by others who become inspired to do their own good deeds. This is a way to approach life, a simple way for us to "be a light," however it portrays performing mitvot as being a choice. It is not. It is a commandment and for good reason. Without charity or "tzedaka", the world would be lost. We must "pay it forward" in order to heal the world (Tikkun Olam.) It is our duty, our commandment, to perform good deeds throughtout our lives to benefit others and inact change within the world. The word tzedaka (charity) comes from the word tzedek (justice), meaning that by giving charity we are not only being charitable, we are being just. When someone is in need, an injustice has been served. Therefore, it is our duty to bring justice to that person, which can be done by fulfilling their needs. This can come in the form of "paying it forward." Put simply, the idea of "paying it forward," is that when one sees an injustice, a need, they fulfill it and, hopefully, someone else sees this and does the same in a similar instance. This idea cannot happen, though, if one does not fulfill the need, but because we, as Jews, are commanded to pursue justice in Deuteronomy, we are, therefore, obligated to fulfill this need, thereby ensuring that the idea of "paying it forward" is instigated. My idea of "paying it forward" is that simple: fulfill a need that you see and hope that someone else does the same. This idea played out in my life in 2018. My mom, a Forest Service employee, was furloughed due to a presedential dispute over the budget for the Mexican border and had gone to work at Pizza Hut in order to pay the bills. She was making minimum wage and working long hours and still struggling to make end's meet. A person within our community saw that we were struggling and brought two large boxes of food over to our house. This food lasted for two months, the remainder of the furlough, and ensured that we had enough money to pay bills without the stress of having to buy groceries. I am reminded of this event every time I see a homeless individual asking for food or a struggling family in the checkout line. This one individual's act of kindness impacted my life and inspired me to help others. Because of this, I organized a school supply distribution in 2021 after seeing multiple students in need of school supplies earlier that year. I was able to supply 80 children with a backpack and full set of supplies. This year, I organized a similar event where I gathered donations to present to a daycare specializing in helping low-income families with clothes and supplies. One act of kindess inspired me to fulfill my commandment to help others. Paying it forward is a critical idea in producing positivity in our world. One good deed could impact an individual for the rest of their lives. It takes little effort on our part to bring joy to others. So, why not do it? This is my goal in life: to help others. Tikkun Olam is simple if we all try.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. These words came from my chemistry teacher. He had been discussing the death of his brother, who committed suicide. The girl next to me asked him how he was such a happy person when his life seemed so sad. Those words were his response. Suffering is optional. That struck me because it was true. Everyone has bad things happen to them, but how we respond, how we react is our choice. We can choose to wallow in our own self-pity or we can choose to rise above it and make our lives better. My chemistry teacher works two jobs and owns a gym. He has taken in children who are not his and raised them as his own. He has made his life positive and has devoted himself to bettering his environment. In a world where self-pity and victimhood are so popular, I think we forget how harmful they can be. If a person's life is devoted to focusing on a painful event in their life, there is no chance for improvement. The event becomes a roadblock in their life. My teacher discussed how painful it was to think about his brother. He said he felt guilty for never noticing his pain. He spoke about how his brother would make jokes and say off-handed things that he never noticed. He felt guilty for not preventing his death. The guilt took over his life for a long time. Then, one day he decided he was no longer going to live that way. He chose to not suffer anymore. He focused on those who were still in his life and decided to improve their lives and inadvertently his, as well. Suffering is optional.

My generation will soon be running the world and therefore, we must be committed to our opinions and ideas. We must stand up for ourselves and others when we see injustice in our communities. That has always been my belief. In grade school, I made it my job to stand up for my classmates who were being mistreated and bullied. This carried on into high school. I became a class officer and joined the student council. I took it upon myself to be a leader in my school, so that I could be a voice for the student body. I frequently shared my opinions in student council meetings and stayed committed to standing up for my classmates when they were being treated unjustly. When my high school presented a new policy, which had not been thoroughly reviewed by the school board to consider the possible ramifications, I fought back. I took a stand and presented letters to the administration, principal, and student council leaders detailing my opinions regarding the new policy and how implementing it could harm the student body. Opinions matter, especially when the topic at hand involves the well being of others. This is what keeps me committed to speaking my mind. Staying silent can sometimes be more harmful than speaking up. As Dr. Martin Luther King said, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."