As I sit down in the gazebo, the wind blowing through my hair and making my arm hair lift up in goosebumps, I realized that this is the place I will call my home. The gazebo beauty speaks to me for I have a mark in my soul and body that I will never forget, and this feeling reminds me of a feeling I get when I am in church and speaking to God too. The gazebo has the Holy Spirit within her and she calls on chants to me, to comfort them, to love them and make sure they I am connected to God. The gazebo is a shelter to me when I lose myself. I am lost both spiritually and mentally, for I have been doing things that I shouldn’t be doing because I had a mindset of fulfilling my dreams of becoming a lawyer for criminal cases. For the gazebo calls me to her as if she were a mermaid who sings and lures her prey. …show more content…
However, the image of this gazebo is different from everyone’s point of view because some may see it as a romantic place to be with a lover. Yet, some say that a gazebo is where one can find one’s self and feel a trinity of peace within the mind, heart, and soul. For me the gazebo is my safety net since I feel the peace and love inside of it, and the beauty of nature reaches out and reminds me of whom I am. The gazebo feels are my new home because I feel at peace as if I were in the paradise of Heaven and filled with the Holy Spirit too. This gazebo is a protector for me because it never judges me at my worst. Now, the gazebo is placed in Eastern Mennonite University for it is beside the Seminary and above the campus
These sacred pieces light the flame into the speaker’s passion for her religion in many ways. She begins to pay more attention and really contemplate why she is on earth? What is she here to do in
Why I Left the Church” by Richard Garcia is a poem that explores the ongoing and conflicting relationship between a child’s fantasy and the Church. Although the majority of the text is told in present tense, readers are put through the lenses of a young boy who contemplates the legitimacy of the restricting and constricting nature of worship. It is a narrative that mixes a realist approach of storytelling with a fantasy twist that goes from literal metaphors to figurative metaphors in the description of why the narrator left the church. The poet presents the issue of childhood innocence and preset mindsets created by the Church using strong metaphors and imagery that appeal to all the senses.
In the Oral Roberts University (ORU) Prayer Garden, guests are reminded that God is the creator of the heavens and earth. Walking the path of the garden, one can see a blanket of blue and gold pansies that fill the air with a fragrant scent. After strolling through the gardens in bloom, a visitor can set on the lush green grass under the shade of the tall trees with limbs spread wide. The majestic trees point guest to the bright blue sky where white fluffy clouds float. The vast sky reminds guests of the endless universe that our great Creator designed. Once a visitor begins to pray, the symphony of the robins and blue jays echoes the song of praise in one’s own heart. The peace in the ORU Prayer Garden gives one a great opportunity to reflect
The Gazebo was once white, but after many battles with the weather, had turned into a light shade of tan. During the summer the surrounding mulberry trees would be laden with ripe, succulent fruit. The sweet juice from the berries stained everything a deep indigo, from hands of children to the young, dewy grass carpeting the ground beneath the trees. Their sepia branches stretched upwards trying to reach the clouds as the sea of leaves whispered in the gentle breeze. Children climbed the trees as if they were a natural jungle gym, easily swinging from one thick branch to another, while below these broad limbs, adults watched their children vigilantly, making sure if one fell they would not hurt themselves on the unforgiving ground only a few
I hid my face as I sat desperately alone in the back of the crowded church and stared through blurry eyes at the stained glass windows. Tears of fear and anguish soaked my red cheeks. Attempting to listen to the hollow words spoken with heartfelt emotion, I glanced at his picture, and my eyes became fixed on his beloved dog. Sudden flashes of sacred memories overcame me. Memories of soccer, his unforgettable smile, and our frequent exchange of playful insults, set my mind spinning. I longed only to hear his delighted voice once more. I sat for what seemed like hours in that lonely yet overcrowded church; my tears still flowed, and I still remembered.
“From time to time I can see their faces, against the dark, flickering like the images of saints, in old foreign cathedrals, in the light of the drafty candles;... I can conjure them but they are mirages only, they don’t last. Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I am to disembodied. I can listen to my own heartbeat against the bedspring, I can stroke myself, under the dry white sheets, in the dark, but I too am dry and white... I am like a room where things once happened and now nothing does, except the pollen of the weeds that grow up outside the window, blowing in as dust across the floor”(Atwood 118).
It is not true that the close of a life which ends in a natural fashion-
At last I arrived, unmolested except for the rain, at the hefty decaying doors of the church. I pushed the door and it obediently opened, then I slid inside closing it surreptitiously behind me. No point in alerting others to my presence. As I turned my shoulder, my gaze was held by the magnificence of the architecture. It never fails to move me. My eyes begin by looking at the ceiling, and then they roam from side to side and finally along the walls drinking in the beauty of the stained glass windows which glowed in the candle light, finally coming to rest on the altar. I slipped into the nearest pew with the intention of saying a few prayers when I noticed him. His eyes were fixated upon me. I stared at the floor, but it was too late, because I was already aware that he wasn’t one of the priests, his clothes were all wrong and his face! It seemed lifeless. I felt so heavy. My eyes didn’t want to obey me. Neither did my legs. Too late I realised the danger! Mesmerised, I fell asleep.
When receiving the assignment to observe something completely new, my mind flew to churches. A couple of days after deciding to visit St. James Episcopal for the Holy Eucharist, I was stepping out of the minivan, staring up at a building I had seen my whole life. I had constantly
passed by me, the whirlwind scooped up a dormant pile of leaves lying next to
In doing this, the usher of the church on “Fifth Avenue,” abandoned someone less fortunate in order to maintain a good appearance. This “house of God,” which should be opening its doors to give a he lping hand, turns away a man in need of help. Hughes shows betrayal in the same poem, when the less fortunate man asks St. Peter if he can stay. St. Peter replies, “You ca...
My “Yella” Umbrella When the day is rainy And gray as it can get, Take out your umbrella And you won't get wet. Why stay at home And get all depressed? Go out for a walk After getting yourself dressed. Outdoors there under
Communication and representation are very important parts of landscape architecture. Without communication to sell a design no project would ever be built. Communication is used to ensure a client that a design exceptional. Representation also plays a large role in public perception of design. The public audience can look at representation to understand a project more thoroughly. Through representation landscape architects have the power to educate the public on the benefits of green spaces and other landscape architecture projects. Current visual communication practices involve creating plans, sections, diagrams, and illustrative perspectives. Although these forms of drawings communicate space to an audience they do not directly show the experience,
The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the surrounding, it looks as if it did the last time we were up here.
I think we all have a beautiful place in our mind. I have a wonderful place that made me happy a lot of times, years ago. But sometimes I think that I am the only person who likes this place and I'm asking myself if this place will be as beautiful as I thought when I will go back to visit it again. Perhaps I made it beautiful in my mind.