02 November 2018

What's your type?

In a digression from my usual poem I offer a book review.

In one fell yet skilful swoop, Merve Emre destroys years of personal affinity for the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator in her mindblowingly brilliant work, The Personality Brokers.

Having taken the professional MBTI in undergrad and finding in it out of all other personality tests a deeper understanding of myself and why I got along with certain people better than others, I/E, N/S, F/T and P/J became conversation starters and interpersonal saviours. From fun dinner conversations with fellow INFP's (which, incidentally is the same letter combination of the authors of the MBTI) to arguments with people decrying my I-ness or P-ness, it has in many ways permeated my life until now. In her book, she explores the true history of the test and the pseudo-science that it is based upon, and she does it with such a spoonful of excellent writing that I could not but swallow it.

Emre graciously paints a biography of 2 (or 3 including Mary) women who made the MBTI a quest for their lives in order to bring understanding between people--and what is more noble than that? She almost elicits sympathy for their cause with her generous portrayal of their difficulties and determination, while the simple facts--sketchy Jungian science, making results fit the theories, and racist/sexist roots (perhaps ironically) among many--belie the validity of the test and in the end leave the reader regretfully dismissing it as a true test of personality (if there is such a thing).

Emre's voice comes through as a call to respect individualism, which I can embrace being (since MBTI is discredited) a 4 on the Eneagram (perhaps I should investigate that test as well...sigh). There is something about humanity that naturally looks for similarities and differences--enter personality testing--but the darker side of herding people into convenient boxes disallows growth and change, and has at its heart the shady world of statistics. Using an argument with personality fallacy at its heart, INFP's/4's are perhaps more drawn than others to personality tests because 1) they cannot agree with most yet 2) they long to figure out why they are so unique (and at once hope and fear they are not). The question also lingers...is the fixture on individualism a human characteristic or a Western (read: American) one? Is our need to be unique innate? But I digress.

The Personality Brokers comes at a perfect time when now, more than ever, Americans need to grasp truly what the solution is to individual conflicts. When is what bothers me about you grounds for censure and when is it merely a difference to be respected? Do our unifying tendencies as a society hide darker aspects such as weeding out misanthropes and nonconformists? While she does not answer these questions per se, she makes a profound statement about the current political climate (fitting in light of Tuesday) that is worthy of note on which I will close:

"For even today, politics remains chained to discourses of personality in ways that are as crude as, if not cruder than, Murray's assessment of Hitler. Most people want to like their democratically elected leaders or want them to be likable or, at the very least, presentable and polite--the kind of man you could invite over for a beer, the kind of woman who might read sweet stories to your children. Sometimes it seems that we are more shocked by violations of common courtesy than we are by unfair or oppressive policies."

23 October 2018

whirling

sometimes when the light is just right
you can feel the spin of the earth
for a moment not longer you gaze above
and the clouds are standing still
while you slide towards the sea for an instant
it's an upside down world
everything and nothing matters more
the world goes strangely soft
the wind in the trees is only the breeze
of time hurtling past
as your space goes topsy turvy
you're amazed to be standing
with all the strength you can muster
you reach out a hand
hoping you're not alone in this fright
that someone feels this too
when the moment is past and you look up
the clouds are floating by
all that remains of your vertigo
are some leaves in your hair

14 October 2018

Falling Leaves

"Are you evergreen or deciduous?"
the old man asked the scribe.
"Do your needles point up to the heavens,
or your leaves on winds ride?
Are you faithful in the summer sunshine
but fickle in winter's glare?
Or do you proudly wave green arms on high
when the world is cold and bare?
It matters but a little in the spring
if your buds are fresh and full;
much better you stay strong under snowfall,
alive despite death's pull."
He gently tapped his wrinkled forehead
and sadly winked his eye.
"Perhaps you think I'm foolish for these words--
no, pause before you deny--
but I've seen a few more seasons here below,
made sense of what is true:
In lonely or laughter, plenty or pain,
the one factor still is you."
I made as if to hazard a reply
but the old man shook his head.
"Don't speak, just think and wait a little while--
there're darker days ahead."
And with that he passed on from my sight
to what I could not tell.
I turned my collar up in the evening breeze
and watched as autumn fell.

07 October 2018

foggy night

around the corner past the bend
and just beside a little glen
the air grows thick this autumn night
blurring the strongest headlight
when traffic on the highway slows
even the reckless caution grows
feeling mist enfold the space
somber herald of winter's face
the blurring view echoes seas
fashioning ghosts among trees
a netherworld of forgotten dreams
where all is not what it seems
where faeries, deer and danger play
and what may come one cannot say
a moment in a normal drive
so suddenly you feel alive
is this the end with hope or dread
it seemed so sure what is ahead
but now the clear air turns opaque
the surety begins to break
until the fog is gone from sight
and all is still in deep starlight
the shaken mind clears at last
forgetting what has just passed
speeding home forgetfully
afraid to dwell on what could be
around the corner past the bend
and just beside a little glen

23 September 2018

shadows flee

come, come closer
see the sunlight
tiptoeing through the branches
diffused rays
warm the eyes
with soft serenity
echoing the peace
only the Son brings

stay, stay still
drink in the beauty
of a world at rest
day's work is done
your Home is nigh
loving arms await
dreams hover at the edges
glory beyond the vale

hope, hope joyfully
in His right hand
is abundant provision
safety from the thief
neverending bliss
even in the fight
His light breaks through
and shadows flee

13 September 2018

Inn at Spanish Bay

The Inn greets the night like a toothy old crone dreaming bygone steaks. Pretentiously clinging to the rock face, the scattered lights belie prosperous days. The steeply stacked balconies have seen too many winters and their facades are cracked and peeling. Still yearning for the early seasons of glory, when where the road bottlenecks the Inn opened wide to enfold wave upon wave of happy holidaymakers, the signs near and along approaching highways beg trendy travellers to remember the event space and restaurant as added bonuses. But in the haze and mist of a sunset told only by the almanac, a veil slips and the Inn watches bereft as memories outweigh dreams.

05 September 2018

unconditional identity

what if for just a moment
i stopped the questions
the constant asking
what do i want
and said
what do You want
then what if i listened
if i stopped the noise
deafening my ears
to hear what You would say
would i understand
everywhere i turn
the persuasive distractions
drown out You and all You
would speak to me
like that first serpent
they're questioning
that You are good
that Your way is peace
they hiss that You're withholding
something i need
i want
though You've never given me
cause to doubt
from before time began
yet sadly again and again
i indulge their lies
You tell me You will take care of me
yet still i stress and grasp and worry
You tell me that You will never leave me or forsake me
yet i cry with loneliness
You tell me that the path of pain bears fruit of righteousness
when i walk trusting in Your hand
yet i beg for another way
You tell me that the end of my story is glory
yet i shiver with fear at sounds in the night
how could i not choose You?
let those moments i stop
lift my hands anew
become longer and longer
string together like pearls
until
unending

iridescence
is my life
and i look like You