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.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
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...
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...
Saturday, January 3, 2009
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.
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.
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