in response to wit

it is a quiet place, the land of tears.” – the little prince –

for those of you who did not know her (which is all of you), susan bank was an easy person to please, as long as you did your best. so, naturally, my tenth grade honors english class had a hard time pleasing her. she was our english professor, for simply calling her a teacher does not seem to fit. we were a college class reading college literature with a children’s book thrown in for effect. there were days when i thought she was the wisest person that had walked the earth; there were days i wanted to kill her. however, one thing was consistent: she was there to impart as much of her immense knowledge to us as she could.

she spent every day filling our minds with new, innovative thought that we did not understand. some still don't. she wished us to find ourselves instead of letting others do the work for us. her strict, deep, and powerful love was more than we could have imagined.

and yet we still took it for granted. it was about mid-may 2004 when we walked into class to find a ms. bank that, while strong in disposition, was weak at heart. it was on that day that she revealed the horrible news that she had contracted colon cancer. however, her prognosis was hopeful. we left that summer believing that nothing could go ill. when we returned in the fall, she was at school, but the treatments were not going well. her first surgery had not been a success, but she was still, as ever, strong-willed. she returned after another failed surgery a few weeks later. once again she was forced to leave because of her health. it was the last time she would teach at my high school.

on thursday, january 27th, ms. bank was sent home to be put in hospice. on friday, january 28th, she went into a coma, and on saturday, january 29th, 2005, ms. bank passed away.

i give you this back story so that you can understand what i am about to write. this is not the journal that dr. davis wants, perhaps. however, it is the only thing that i can find to write.
my thoughts right now are as infinite and raw as the tears rolling down my cheeks at the moment. wit struck a nerve with me like nothing has in a long time. i did not realize how tender the wound was from the loss of ms. bank. i saw her in vivian bearing. the agonizing inner thoughts and physical pains portrayed in wit tore at my very soul. it was nearly unbearable. you see, i was unable to get the full effect of the movie because my mind continuously refocused on ms. bank and the picture i began to get of her suffering in the hospital. or maybe, because of that, i did get the full effect.

the scene that truly broke me was at the end when her former mentor…(pause, pardon the following lanuage)…damn it. i am crying again. hold on…(a couple of minutes pass)…i think i have composed myself for the time being. when her former mentor came in and asked if she wanted to hear donne. when the negative grunt came and e.m. ashford pulled out the children’s book instead, i no longer was able to hold back the flood of tears. my soul was crushed as i remembered our study of the little prince by antoine de saint-exupery under ms. bank. it was her favorite book, not only to teach, but to read. the calming of a children’s book. still so dear to the heart of an academic powerhouse.

i am rambling, and i know it, but i felt i should respond. just after the movie ended, i went to bongo java, bought a “thrilla,” and sat down with a pad and pen. i wrote:

death be not proud. be not proud of the work you can do. you are, in yourself, a paradox. so arrogant and humble. powerfully weak. full of hunger. death, be not proud.

i don’t know what to even make of my own words. are they profound or are they shallow? i don’t know. i guess what i am trying to say is that, so far, this was both my favorite movie and the one i hate the most. it moved me in ways i had forgotten i could be moved. how it relates to having a mind of my own? i suppose the simple fact that part of my “own mind” was influenced by this very special woman.

i am a lord of the sith

though my name i am unsure of, i have come to this conclusion. indeed, i am a dark lord of the sith, or at least on my way to becoming one. don't balk! it’s not necessarily a bad thing. a true sith. not like qordis or sidious. more like bane or vectivus. the distinction? quite profound actually. if i may make reference to the biography of darth bane.

"bane didn't react. he was dealing with the emotional pain in the only way he knew how. the same way he'd dealt with it as a child. he withdrew into himself, tried to make himself invisible to avoid the scorn and derision of others."

so is the way of the true sith, to a point. they must withdraw; reflect, though, unlike the jedi, they must grow from this reflection.

"those who use the dark side are also bound to serve it. to understand this is to understand the underlying philosophy of the sith." - darth revan -

the dark side does not corrupt unless one lets it. this was the trap sidious and vader fell into.

"two there should be; no more, no less. one to embody the power, the other to crave it." - darth bane -

and i will take it a step forward than bane and his successors did. there should be only two. but there can be multiples of them. always one master and one apprentice. but there can be many of these pairs as long as they do not conflict.

but am i a pupil, or am i the teacher. or am i both, and the two struggle within?

maybe that is it:

darth tiro

for i am a learner.

(footnote: these are fictional rantings, not true beliefs of the author...they were brought about after reading "path of destruction" by drew karpyshyn)