New Year's Resolutions.

1. No online shopping (if you can find it at a store locally): you have to pay shipping charges and it's too much trouble to return something you decide you don't want.

2. Seriously restrict facebook-ing. It wastes time.

3. Do yoga or jog. Move around a little more.

4. Attend church more regularly.

More to come (maybe?)

6/11/07

I wrote this in 2007, but its still describes the yearning to write, and the frustration of writer's block:

These years have stripped
away my energy
the angle, the words
corralled together into what
some like to call art
the romance died with the
first failed rhyme
the story left unfinished
the essay without conclusion
tumultuous change
whipped about like warm
clothes in the dryer
only to be wrenched out to
repeat the cycle
the world hardens us
but we must not ignore
the written word
calling, crying, begging
to serve a higher purpose
art.

Expectations.

Is there anyone out there who isn't a little disappointed with life's outcome? As each year of college passes, I grow a little more uneasy, disenchanted, despairing.

I had ups and downs in high school. But everything was simpler. And being young and dependent left me free to dream about my marvelous future. Don't get me wrong, my life isn't bad. But I'm never truly at ease with my circumstances. Maybe I'm ungrateful. But I had such high expectations going into college of studying abroad, getting in shape, working toward something meaningful. The closer I get to complete independence, the more I feel like fleeing from it. How does anyone with decent goals and expectations meet those expectations in a life full of messy relationships, stress, rearrangements, and impossible decisions to make?

I want my life to be enjoyable, peaceful, exciting, meaningful. Am I asking too much?

Planz.

I've been thinking I could probably graduate a semester early, especially now that I don't intend to double major. I could finish a linguistics and English minor by next Fall. Of course, I have no idea what I would do with myself afterward.

It's all about opportunity cost. Is it benefiting me to stay in school an extra semester? I think I would like to look into getting a teacher certification, but I'm not exactly sure who or what I should teach.

Mary thinks I should go to seminary and become a pastor. I think I've always felt compelled toward that career and life choice, but it's also very scary. How do you lead people if you don't have a firm set of ideologies and doctrinal beliefs? Then again, maybe it would be useful to be a pastor who encourages discussion rather than following a list of human-made Christian expectations.

I dunno. We'll see what becomes of my life these next few years. Marriage, graduation, entering the work force. It's sure to be exciting.

Wistful is a lovely word.

I just stumbled across the blog of a girl I don't know while looking up the source of a quote in the story I just read. I read a few of her posts and looked at her blogger profile. A strange, wistful nostalgia overcame me. I think we would be really good friends.

It may have been a silly thought, but its interesting to think about all the people in this world we don't know. They've had lives like ours, experiences like ours, deep thoughts and emotions and perspectives. And we're missing it. But we're also living it.

I'm in a state of contemplation that has no direction and yields no conclusions or concrete thoughts.

This link is to a music video that I found really touching. The idea of living as a rambunctious, carefree child even when we're old is so beautiful. We need to live, and go on aging, with the spirit of children and the wisdom experience brings.

Security.

I've been having a really hard time lately. I'm fine for two or three weeks at a time, appreciative of my friends, getting through my classes, seeing things optimistically.

Then, it seems something small - real or imagined - comes and shakes my confidence. It's like I spend a few weeks fitting bricks together to make the walls of my house, to provide some warmth and safety, and then the big bad wolf comes and blows my house down again.

Sometimes it's unnecessary stress: thinking I'm going to fail my classes, freaking out about how little money I have, feeling like I'm not achieving enough. But sometimes its something physical like getting sick, saying something hurtful to someone, or absorbing a life change.

I am at the emotionally tumultuous phase again. My dad just got a job in Indiana and he and my mom will move there in the next few months. I knew this was coming and I thought I could handle it rationally. Things change and I haven't lived at home for 2 1/2 years. It's not really my home anymore. But when I get stressed out here, at least I know there is some stability, something I knew for so long, only three hours away. Where will I go when I get homesick?

Part of getting married is establishing a home of your own. But it's a phase, a gradual pulling away, getting comfortable as an adult, with a life of your own.

But I feel so much like a child. And I feel like I'm losing my home.

Middle class children do well in school because they experience relative stability in their personal lives. In many cases, they have parents with steady jobs, emotional support, and food on the table. To be successful as people we need security. I keep trying to lean on things, and they fall out from under me. That's why I can't seem to manage my life. College is very hard sometimes. And life is not all fluff and dreams and success stories.

I need to depend on something, on someone who is infallible.

Things I Need to Do:

- Live abroad.
- Go to India.
- Go to a Switchfoot concert.
- Buy a guitar and write a CD's worth of quality songs.
- Read a poem in public.
- Sew my own piece of (wearable) clothing.
- Join a community choir.
- Visit National parks.
- Get something published.

On trust and wooden tribal masks.

Today as I walked through the array of market Wednesday booths in the Union on my way back to Rogers, a Jamaican man prompted me to come over and talk with him. Curious, I complied. He asked me where I was from. When I told him "St. Augustine," he explained that he used to sell his wares outside of Flagler every day. He then gently grabbed me by the wrist and directed me to his booth. He and his selling partner sell painted stone eggs (made in Kenya) and wooden tribal masks he says he carved himself.

He urged me to buy something, as any good salesman does, and started placing items in my hand. He began to bargain with me. "This is normally $60.00 [yeah right], but for you, 90% off! Since you are from St. Augustine, how about I give this [egg with a painted turtle on it] for only $10.00?" He explained he needed gas money to get home, and since business was slowing down, he really wanted me to purchase something. I truthfully told him I had no cash on me.

Unhindered, he continued to talk about his other products. A wooden mask caught my eye. I asked him how much it would cost. He told me I could have the egg and the mask for only $20.00. He could see the doubt in my eyes. Finally, he determined I could purchase them together for only $15.00, "since you're from St. Augustine." He placed his wares in my hands and told me to take them. "Just pay me when you come back through the Union." "Really?" I replied. I said he really didn't have to do that. He insisted that I take them, that he trusted me.

Encouraged, not by his salesmanship (though it was a unique strategy, for sure), but by his trust, I cashed my birthday check and went back to the Union with a 20 dollar bill.

He smiled when he saw me coming toward him. He told me he was very pleased with my honesty and asked for a hug. This could have been potentially creepy, but I hugged him. He and his partner then asked me about my life, my major, and my recent engagement (they saw the ring on my finger). His partner and I talked about the Bible, how he likes the Old Testament because it talks about God; he sees truth in it. He doesn't like the New Testament because he thinks that a lot of illegitimate people attempted to rewrite God's truth, as recorded in the Hebrew Bible.

Should I have presented some sort of salvation message or spoken with him longer? I don't know, and I have some doubts as to whether I handled the situation properly. I told him that the New Testament was certainly compiled differently, but that doesn't make it less important.

Finally, I said I needed to go. We shook hands and smiled at one another with pure, joyful smiles, the kind you give to a dear friend you haven't seen in months.

I walked away with a wooden mask, a painted egg, 20 fewer dollars, and an overwhelming excitement. Was I cheated out of 20$? Maybe, but there's no wrong in being generous.

And the man in the Union was generous with me. Because he trusted me, a stranger, with his belongings. And I was compelled to reciprocate.

Today was an interesting day. If we've been entrusted with something, given something we don't deserve, how can we not feel compelled to reciprocate, to give back, to encourage kindness in this world?

Months.

Look, the tail of the
squirrel has grayed
in the Summer's musky
twilight. The lightning bug
replaced its luminous bulb.

Listen, the cricket learned
a new song on his
rustic harp, a song he
says he sings for
a harvest Fall.

Feel, the humid dusty wind
splinter the stifling
afternoon. Observe,
oh daughter, Observe
my dance. Please,

Child, dance along.

21.

I just turned 21. On Friday, my friends and I (16 of us!) gathered at Olive Garden to celebrate. I had a wonderful time and the cake was delicious!

I received some of the most wonderful birthday presents I've ever gotten, including:
Poetry books (Mary Oliver, Hebrew poetry, 25 Modern Poets collection).
Loose leaf tea and a darling mug.
Gladiator sandals.
Keds from the Wise family.
Flowers.
a Disney Princess Halloween card.
a cat "piggy" bank.
a Punjabi folk instrument.
a Snuggie.
a check from the grandparents (I used this to buy a bag and a cute belt).
Jenny came to visit me!

I have so many wonderful friends and family members. It's times like these that make me realize how thankful I should be each and every day.

Time for a life update.

I survived three week of school so far. I have a lot of work to do; it's all piling up, waiting for my procrastination to settle into a drive steered by anxiety.

I am engaged to my Daniel. It's still surreal, something you think about as a life stage for the bulk of your childhood and adolescence, but once it's real, it's somehow normal, somehow not so dramatic. I love him and I'm thankful for the settled, peaceful feeling I have when I think about our engagement and our future life, side by side.

I have so much to be thankful for. And I'm glad God is helping me see that. Great friendships, relationships, interactions with classmates and teachers. Interesting subject matter. Fellowship opportunities, intellectual opportunities. Health, financial stability, a beautiful campus. And Fall is coming soon. Oh, how I long for Fall. It's my favorite time of year. More than any other season, it connects me to this season in the past years of my life, it fills me with this inexplicable joy, as if I'm awaiting something glorious.

Real Summer.

This is real summer, when you
can smell the pungent fragrance of
cologne and sweat, deodorant
melting off of showered skin.

This is late summer, and the
warm breeze stirs your memory with
thoughts of Fall, but fall is far
away for north Florida.

This is still Summer, even though
we call this Fall semester, and moisture
rests in that space between your back
and the books you carry there.

And you dream of summer, of the
ones that came and went, of high
school anxieties and rain drenched
clothing, coming home late in the afternoon.

This is real, this summer, and you
know that your hope and early fall
luck will be remembered, and stirred
again, when the Sun is high

And the season, Summer,
perspires into Fall.

Well stated.

Does absolutely everything have to be viewed through a partisan lens? Even if Obama were to be so foolish as to try and pitch his ideas on fiscal policy to fifth-graders – which would turn them into Republicans for sure – do we really want our kids sheltered from ideas with which they may disagree? How are they to stand up to opposing views if they haven't even heard them? - Melinda Henneberger

Full article here.

Please note that I'm not making a specific political statement. I do think, however, that Henneberger's questions (in bold) are worth thinking about. We fear so much that the young and impressionable will hear and internalize what, in our opinions, are incorrect mentalities that we don't give them the chance to develop a grounds for their own beliefs.

Turning over a new leaf.

The start of the school year is often cathartic. I go through my closet and purge my old clothing to make way for new fall styles. Immersed in the college culture, I learn about new bands, new relationships (and those that turned sour in the summer heat), new students. The quickened pace of a packed schedule is often just what I need to let go of old heartbreaks and insecurities. Here I am again, nearing the end of the first week of my junior year of college, and I feel the need to reflect on who I am, what I've learned, and how, with new resources and new surprises, I can change for the better.

I am imperfect: sometimes reckless, mean, selfish, dramatic. But I want honest, grounded passion, passion that allows me to pursue my interests and my school work with fervor, that encourages me to greet everyone with a smile that lets them know I want to know them; I want to desire to know people. I want a passion that leads me daily, hourly, to Christ, to this grand true story of God watching over us, pitying us, crying out for our attention, forgiving us. I think if I knew that in an intimate, encompassing way at all times, everything would change.

I have made mistakes. I have gossiped and slandered. I have taken for granted my daily blessings. I am ready to find the balance between moving on and feeling guilty for my humanness, to know how to recover and to live each day with joy.

Being here is a blessing. An example, once again of beauty in the broken, in moving forward, in times of change, in deepening relationships and continuing to work toward a degree.

Don't take it for granted.

Consumption Addiction.

I have a literal shoe addiction. I am drawn into shoe aisles and shoe stores by some metaphysical entity. I try on every pair I see. I buy shoes every time I go shopping. Thanks to Mary, I now recognize that I tend to buy jeans I don't want, need, or even like, compulsively.  I always felt that I managed my money fairly well. I'm not in debt, I can pay for gas and spontaneous trips to Starbucks. But I'm not spending wisely and I can't seem to figure out how to alter my spending habits in the long run. I've gone on spending fasts that work, but like trendy diet plans, once the fast ends, my spending goes back to normal. 

I want to buy clothes, shoes, and accessories in a way that isn't lavish or excessive. To scope out what I need or want and then sit on my decision until I can be sure its a wise choice. I think it must be possible to own fewer than 30 pairs of shoes and still look good, to buy a few jeans that actually fit and wear them for at least a year. 

I feel convicted, like its actually a hindrance to my reliance on God, a distraction from pursuing things that really matter. I need to buckle down, give some shoes away, live on the plenty I already have. It may seem trivial, but it's a hard sacrifice. I'm lucky, I'm blessed, and I need to start living with gratitude instead of unquenchable desire for the material. 

Feel free to comment with your own struggles or suggestions.

Fun with Film.

I thought it would be exciting to use my old film camera for a change. Here are my favorite photographs from the roll:

This was the first blue sky in a very long time!

Plank and White-washed,

Reading on this plank
and white-washed
porch on the hottest
day of the year.
This is the humid
twilight of the
deep south, of
history, of calloused
plantation slaves turning
on beds of straw
and hardened dirt, and
white women in
white cotton
underthings fanning their
faces, under a ring
of flying beetles,
bathed in sweat, and
(fading) lantern light.

The funny thing about joy.

The funny thing about joy, the kind of joy C.S. Lewis spent his life talking about, is that its not dependent on circumstances, money, or even one's potential. It's about recognizing the magic of our day to day lives. Seeing every blessing and nurturing it into a joy that lasts. Joy is daily wonder.

I have been given the seeds of joy. I have a wonderful boyfriend who makes me reconsider my attitudes. I have a wonderful friend who just happens to be my roommate. I have a job where I'm not treated like dirt. A community of Christ-seeking people have really blossomed around me this summer. God is here. It's been so long since I let myself become vulnerable enough to recognize that He is here and He wants to transform me and everyone else. And He's doing great things in all of our lives. And I'm excited.

I wrote a poem Sunday night. I also sang a worship song while Matt played his guitar. Both gave me a peace and a hope. All is not lost. Nothing has degraded.

Joy motivates us, in the end, to fulfill Christ's message of hope and love for others. Our potential is given to us. We don't find worth in doing it alone.

joy

I have this nagging, almost desperate feeling that I’m not reaching my full potential. It’s not about efficiency. It’s that somehow I got stuck in this niche, this routine of activities, hobbies, and social interactions that make me only moderately happy. They keep me moving, but they don’t fill me with anything apart from fleeting joy or happiness. Religion club, book discussions, conversation hours, they’re things I want to do, but they’re subordinate to singing, to poetry, to swing dancing. I love to swing dance. There is something glorious in the carelessness, the child-like activity of spinning and kicking and holding a partner. I miss it, that joy, that adrenaline rush. The flushed, exhausted contentment. I miss the introspection and complex emotion conveyed through simplistic, quiet, imagery. I haven’t let my mind rest long enough to allow words, phrases, and insight accumulate into anything that resembles art. What I miss - and what troubles me - the most is singing. My voice has altered from an area of contentment to a trigger for pain, an entanglement of bitterness, sorrow, feelings of inadequacy. I’m losing my voice. Singing has been a source of stability. And I still need it; I need to learn, to understand my voice, to harmonize, to perform. I need to do the things that make me see everything with more light, more contentment, more poetry. I need to stop crying when I think about singing.

I need to sing instead.

Christine Lincoln - from "Sap Rising"

We share the story about the women called maniacs. Women who lived a long time ago. They were just country women, really, who got tired of cookin' and cleanin', takin' care of their husband and chirrun. Got tired of everybody else usin' up what was supposed to be their lives. So they met in the woods one night and had this dance. When the men found out, they got angry and tried to put an end to their womens' foolishness. But they couldn't. The women rebelled. Started gatherin' every night. Before long, the men started callin' the women crazy, and started treatin' them like they was, until the women began to believe it. Why is it when a man wants to be free, he's just being a man, but when a woman wants to live life from the position of the birds, the first thing folks say is that she's crazy?

Grass.

Grass is compelling. It springs up in cities and countrysides. It clutters the space between sidewalk slats. It's a bit like wild, sustainable, outdoor carpet.

I have this body spray from the GAP called "Grass." I wanted it because of its calm green color and also because anything grass-related lifts my spirits. But before today, I didn't realize that grass really does have a remarkable fragrance. GAP did a good job imitating its scent. It is tart and fresh and sweet and joyful. Beneath our trudging feet, it grows in understated complexity. It is beautiful. A forest that shelters tiny insect cities.

Two Thursdays ago, yoga and discussion time made me painfully aware that for a long, stressful period I had chosen to remain unaware of small blessings. That day I finally smelled the pink flowering trees in the Rogers parking lot I had before then only glanced at in passing. Since then, I wonder at the moon, revel in the first blue sky we've seen in weeks, and today I smelled grass.

It's been worth it.

Time for a Joke.

A man is walking in a graveyard when he hears the Third Symphony played backward. When it's over, the Second Symphony starts playing, also backward, and then the First. "What's going on?" he asks the cemetery worker. "It's Beethoven," says the worker. "He's decomposing."

“The work of Jesus was not a new set of ideals or principles for reforming or even revolutionizing society, but the establishment of a new community, a people that embodied forgiveness, sharing and self-sacrificing love in its rituals and discipline. In that sense, the visible church is not to be the bearer of Christ’s message, but to be the message.” - Stanley Hauerwas

Change is active.

I'm not exactly sure what this post will turn into because there are a lot of thoughts in my head that may or may not form coherent phrases.

It seems to me that there are two types of people: those who experience joy because they open themselves up to it and those who catch only glimpses of happiness because they have already concluded that there life doesn't measure up, that nothing is good enough. But really, even those people who see reasons for joy must have times where they'd rather sit life out for awhile. So really, there is one type of person on this earth. We're all discontented with what we have and disenchanted with experiences, people, and even our dreams. For me, this year has been a rude awakening. I was happy and care free so long as I managed to ignore the depth of physical and emotional suffering people experience daily. People are literally trudging along. I feel like so many people are on the edge of suicidal desperation. The thing that keeps them alive is a healthy fear of death.

So what we end up with is lots of people afraid to live and afraid to die. The fear becomes so debilitating that they choose apathy over any other feeling. Easier to dull the pain than learn how to feel more effectively.

We're all psychotic. How did we get this way? Why have we determined that if we're not happy with ourselves, with our lives, we must sit in self pity, shaking our fists at the world's cruelty, instead of doing something?

I am tired of feeling sorry for myself. I am tired of everyone else feeling sorry for themselves. It's hard to grow up, but who convinced us that growing up means sacrificing ourselves to the gods of apathy, bitterness, monotonous living, giving up? I want to travel, but my parents won't help fund the trip. I want to help people. I want to give to charity. I want to have a strong, Christian community again. I want to be happy with my skin, and in my skin. These things aren't inevitable failures. They fuel the goals that make my life purposeful.

I found FSU exchange programs that cost much less than study abroad. If I work hard, I can pay for it myself. I'm becoming friends with lonely elders at Westminster Oaks; so what if I feel ineffective. If I can get over myself I will realize that what I do is enriching to young and old alike whether or not my generation cherishes the elderly. I'm working this summer. I can put money aside for charitable giving. I can focus myself and get involved in a church and determine to work at building relationships. I can take care of myself as well as I know how and, in the meantime, see the joys in my life that matter far more than my appearance.

I do the things I do not wish to do. I do not do the things I wish to do. But God (please restore me to you God), has provided a purpose, a hope, a message of selfless love. Its hard, but maybe I'll start to live this life with joy again. We can't hope for change to come. Change is active, which means we actually have to DO something.

I want so badly for people to get up off their couches, to rise out of whatever self-induced funk they're in at the moment, and determine to change their lives by being changed by God and in turn, changing others.

Fashion Blogging?

Today I visited teenvogue.com because even though I'm a grown up now, I still appreciate its fun fashion sense. In the Girl of the Week section, I discovered almost every girl chosen has just started her own fashion blog. I checked out one of them. Each post consisted either of of-the-moment fashion preferences or the girl herself modeling in rather expensive new clothing. For some posts, she had even employed a friend to take model shots of her.

I reacted in two ways to the blog. My first thought was of mild disgust at the narcissism of it all. Sure, the girl has a gift for styling outfits. But the amount of time consumed with perfecting her image, buying clothing, and taking pictures of herself seems excessive.

On the other hand, the idea of starting a fashion blog appeals to my own interest in fashion and modeling. I wondered if I should utilize its concepts to some degree. For instance, my friends and I could continue our fashion shoots and I could post them on a blog! Or I could bring pieces I like together, although doing publicly what I've been doing on powerpoints for years seems scary because I don't want to be perceived as superficial.

And now I delve into our need to create an image for ourselves. For fashion bloggers, it's style. And although I'm interested in fashion, I've tried to create an image of verbal creativity and insight or of my intelligence or nonconformity.

None of it really matters in the end. I was talking to Daniel and Mary about this yesterday. By defining ourselves by a "thing," something by which we attain relevance to ourselves or others, we set ourselves up for failure and inadequacy. Because when we inevitably fail, we lose our identity. But it's just a created identity, it isn't who we are. People are people, defined by too many things to count. If we could appreciate that, maybe our image would improve without our own exhaustive, superficial aid. Its easier said than done.

I'm still considering starting a fashion blog.

An update (finally)

I finally eeked out a few more poems; they just haven't come as easily this semester. However, I've realized that I tend to think poetically or imagine situations just for their poetic value. That's made me feel a bit better about my lack of artistic creation. I wrote these a couple weeks ago. Do enjoy them:

Long Grass

The cedar tree forest
ants forage within
is green with Spring's
new blossom

Bruising its bark and boughs
under giant's limbs
I sit on it
and eat my lunch

The long grass grew (and grows)
under monsoon and sun alike
and no one comes
to cut it down.

The Cemetary Wedding

After a proposal by that
bench, under the tree
in the Pearson plot, I will
make a dress of grass
and fallen leaves,
Litter the aisle with
borrowed silk flowers and
march; the witch girl Eliza and
confederate soldiers
bow as my fresh,
watering gaze meets theirs,
where they lie at rest, dirt mattresses
and grassy quilts.
When I meet the groom, the
buzz of silence and whispers
memories, unfulfillments
Flutters, lifts my veil
New life intermingled
with old, and
the cycle has circled
marking its bounds
in vines and wrought iron.

Can humans handle globalization?

I've been very stressed out this semester. I'm sure there are a variety of causes for this, but I've been thinking lately about global awareness as it pertains to consumerism and social justice issues. I'm taking a Religious Ethics of Food class so we're often discussing slave labor, the destruction of the Everglades due to the sugar industry, subsidies, starvation in other parts of the world, etc. This paired with the stress on activism on a college campus in school politics, state education budget cuts, feeding the hungry, donating to organizations, cleaning up parks, buying organic and locally grown produce, spending wisely, and hundreds of other causes is a lot to deal with and a lot to live up to. I don't know if everyone approaches these issues the same way I do, but I have become completely overwhelmed, wanting to be a conscious consumer, wanting to buy Tom's shoes because they're trendy and for a good cause, wanting to understand how my choices hurt or help people who are making the products I buy in destitute countries. But I CAN'T DO IT ALL.

Global consciousness and I don't mix well. And I don't think they have to or even necessarily should go together. Individuals can only stretch themselves so far. I can only befriend and truly love so many people. Sure, I can demonstrate compassion in a sense for every cause and everyone. But I have to focus. And we might all be a little more effective if we could find our passion or passions, at most a handful of them, and work to make these things better. I've always felt the need to be good at everything, to succeed at everything I do, to impress everyone with my ability to juggle a million things with ease. But I am slowly becoming convinced that the point of the Church as a community is to build trust and love and accountability in groups we can manage, not in megachurches. And this applies to general socialization as well. We're useless if we're overwhelmed. And we're not really helping very much if what we're doing leaves us deeply unsatisfied.

I went to an Ash wednesday service this past week and was particularly struck by one phrase the pastor said: "If you have faith in Christ and you've been baptized, that's it. You're forgiven." I needed that, "that's it" - I'm free, plain and simple. Knowing that I won't be considered less by God if I don't donate to every charity, shop at New Leaf, feed every starving child is so important. I will do what I do because that's where my heart is, because those things provide clarity and joy and work with my talents and desires and goals and convictions. I am forgiven, I am loved, I am doing fine. That's it.

Walt Whitman and I share an appreciation for grass.

A child said, What is the grass?

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.

A Poem by Mary Oliver

The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Poetry on a Lovely Day

Dry leaves whisper
rain drop rhythms
tossed once by wind's approach
they rest now
a cat nap
under spring's
cold light.

Shadows and
a need to think in
the concrete
the poet's gaze muffled
by What?
cigarette butts and
small mountains of
brown-orange dirt
in the shade the
shadows bring.

Metropolis

Slow migration of
pedestrians striding,
striving in the city
Bright warmth
and bird song cadences
honk and buzz, neon
shocking your
optic nerves.

Stuff I like.

I was just now suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to share with you the things that have made my life more joyous lately:

I am currently drinking Peach Ginger Black Tea with a spoonful of sugar; it is delicious. Coffee is so rich and overwhelming after awhile and I feel that it makes me either too hyper or angsty as I come off the caffeine high. Black tea is a good alternative.

Today I sat on Landis Green for an hour, enjoying tea and a piece of Lindt chocolate in the breezy, sunny, 60 degree weather. I overheard interesting conversations and managed to get all of my Hebrew homework done. I felt very accomplished and very refreshed.

I bought Yael Naim's "New Soul" CD about a week and half ago and its all I've listened to since. She sings in Hebrew, French, and English and her musical style is very soothing, calm, and understated. Also, I understand a bit of what she says in Hebrew, which makes me terribly excited.

We're reading Feuerbach in my Critics of Religion class. Man, that guy is intriguing. Everything he critiques about nineteenth century protestant Christianity forces me to really think and reconsider what I believe. There are definitely some loopholes in his arguments, but I've really enjoyed analyzing his concepts within his book, "Essence of Christianity."

I love naps, starting this week. Falling asleep midmorning when the sun gently peaks through dorm windows and drifting off for a few minutes is wonderfully refreshing.

My yellow keds literally go with everything.

Homework efficiency relieves a lot of stress. I am ahead of schedule this week, getting in the groove of things.

Why I am moving to Ireland

I hear they rejoice in
simple pleasures, sing
with strangers on
cobblestone streets, and
make foreigners feel
at home, their hearty
laughter and hearty
meals familiar,
they are your kin.

I hear they write
poetry, they're
famous for it
and their sunsets
are glorious.

Rain as ritual purification

The sky scatters
raindrops into my
open, steaming coffee cup
should the daisies' sustenance
intermingle and
sustain me, too
these are tears cried for
earth - for love,
for distress -
perspiring on my
frail winter skin,
sweat of my own
misgivings, misunderstandings
and mistakes.

Longing (or Straight Hair)

Golden brown
streaks sunlight
like thin flour noodles into
light-deprived eyes

Strands tossed piece
by piece
fall into wind-blown
order

The pungent scent of
hair-straightener burn
reminds her of what
she once had naturally.

New Grass

New grass, winter's brown and green
cleansed from yesterday's
shower, today sunbathes
the just-moist squeaky
softness caresses tired bodies
protects them from the foot-hardened,
student-trodden
college green, January
hints at Spring.

Miriam's Kitchen

I always get excited about the reading for my courses at the beginning of the semester. That's because I'm actually reading the materials assigned for the first few weeks of class before it gets shoved out of my list of priorities as the semester wears on.

I'm reading a memoir called Miriam's Kitchen for Religious Ethics of Food and it has all but taken over my spare time. In it, the author is on a quest to maintain a kosher kitchen by relying on the wisdom and tradition of her mother in law, Miriam. It's gotten me to think long and hard about my aspirations, my motives for eating, but also my purpose in general. And the importance of tradition. We tell stories of the past through a medium of food. We speak love through shared meals. We gain comfort from the foods we grew up with. At first I envied the rich food traditions in the author's life, her ability to belong to something so deeply. But I've started to realize I, too, have food traditions. My mother's chicken and noodles satisfies me though others see only blandness. The olives I bought at the grocery store I bought because the label and description fit the concept I had of the olives my mom always buys. Small things hold meaning for us, and maybe we should consider our motives for choosing the things we choose, eating the things we eat, loving the things or people we love.

While reading earlier today, the author recalled her time in Paris as a nineteen year old college dropout. This, too, inspired me. I am in awe of those who pick up and move, who undertake adventures on a whim. With the little money she had, she managed to string together a life, meeting people and learning more about herself in the solitude of her travels, expectations, and hopes. I want to be able to make big decisions like that, to step out and succeed, to not fear the unknown. I also want to go to Paris.

More on my readings later...

Thinking Back on good ol' 2008

2008 was a growing year.

It started in cynicism. One semester of religious studies had already worn away at faith that was weaker than I understood. But God worked and the transformation of thought and focus from uncertainty and self to really knowing, knowing with all of me, that God was real, that Christ was alive, and that my life is full of purpose, a call to love others, filled me with fervor. But passion wears off in time.

In 2008, I learned what heart break is, what making hard decisions feels like, and what depth of vulnerability is involved in trusting someone. I learned how to cry. How to cry so much it didn't matter what I was crying about anymore. I learned to stop analyzing it, stop trivializing it, and stop covering it up. And by allowing myself, for the first time in my life, to be really honest with myself emotionally, my compassion and appreciation for others increased.

In the loneliness of summer, God let me feel His love more fully than I had ever felt it before. I'd been so caught up in the legalism of institutionalized Christianity I had managed to ignore this: that God loves me, in fact, Christ died for me in full knowledge of the sloppy, insensitive way I handle life. He's not plagued with regret, and neither should I be. He died because He LOVED me...that's all. Its both the simplest, most beautiful action and infinitely incomprehensible.

I did a lot of thinking, I managed to avoid rebounding. I learned that even in the midst of emotional wreckage, my intellect doesn't disappear.

And then, and now, I am learning vulnerability, trust, the chaos and confusion and joy and worth of love. The fall semester was confusing. So many barriers I'd formed around God in an attempt to comprehend Him were ripped from me, painfully. And I am coming to realize just how difficult it is to actually, truly, take a step out there in His name, with the belief that He is truth, that there is more than the Christian subculture to sustain me. I'm out of my comfort zone, but He's given me support and love. He's given me people who listen without judging, who comfort me even if they don't really understand why I'm upset.

2008 has been one of the hardest, no, the hardest year of my life. But its also been the best. And I know that God's got big plans, to change me, to push me, to seek me, so that I may seek Him, understand His love, and love others better than I've loved before.