Gypsy's Road

Good Friday Dark Friday

2011-04-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

Good Friday for some, for others Earth day.... Or maybe both. While I may be spending most of my day reading Eating Animals and contemplating all my ethical food choices to a greater world view (and losing my appetite), I also hold Good Friday somewhere in there too.

It's a beautiful sunny NW day which rarely comes along - it doesn't FEEL dark... But reading this passage reminds me of what this day represents. Not just the ugly death and separation and betrayal; but it also reminds me that even in dark, inky times- beauty is hidden behind the veil. Waiting for it to be torn, waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be basked in.

I am a black sheep dressed in all the beauty of the universe.
I may not bike to work (I don't believe I possess the muscles),
I may not compost (yet),
and I'm certainly not going to any religious services this week (I work anyway)....

But Today, I celebrate the beauty of earth and the beauty of grace on earth. Today (like every other day I seem to so miserably fail at), I pledge to do my best to unveil that beauty in myself, in others, and in the world. To honor that grace given to each of us

Isaiah 53

Who believes what we’ve heard and seen? Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.

There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was scum.

But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.

We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong, on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.

Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten bloody for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.

Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.

...Because he embraced the company of the lowest. He took on is own shoulders the sins of many, he took up the cause of the black sheep.

Thou art Love

2011-04-04T16:28:00.000-07:00

If I forget,
Yet God remembers! If these hands of mine
Cease from their clinging, yet the hands divine
Hold me so firmly that I cannot fall;
And if sometimes I am too tired to call
For Him to help me, then He reads the prayer
Unspoken in my heart, and lifts my care.

I dare not fear, since certainly I know
That I am in God’s keeping, shielded so
From all that else would harm, and in the hour
Of stern temptation strengthened by His power;
I tread no path in life to Him unknown;
I lift no burden, bear no pain, alone:
My soul a calm, sure hiding-place has found:
The everlasting arms my life surround.

God, Thou art love! I build my faith on that.
I know Thee who has kept my path, and made
Light for me in the darkness, tempering sorrow
So that it reached me like a solemn joy;
It were too strange that I should doubt Thy love.
—Robert Browning

Female Genital Mutilation (Or: Pain and Idealism)

2011-03-23T01:34:00.000-07:00

It’s easy to get swallowed up in your own misery.

It’s all that you can see until something BIGGER and GREATER than that misery stretches into your world and _DIPS it’s finger into your heart.

Sometimes those fingers wrap around you and let you know you’re not the only one with misery, and sometimes they point far off to tell you that your misery is the misery of a privileged and very blessed person who has not known real loss.

Sometimes, it’s a bit of both.

Each of us has our own misery

Sometimes the pain feels like something we deserve, Sometimes the pain feels like something we need in order to hold on to something we lost. Sometimes we keep our pain because it becomes part of us, and to let go, feels like losing ourselves and our dignity or even our comfort.

...Sometimes we become so infused with that pain, the only way to live is to inject and subject others to pain.

Tonight I read about Victoria, a young American born Nigerian girl who lost her proud, beautiful spirit in the wake of female circumcision. It is a beautifully written story about two young, kindred souls standing together as one of them navigates the exclusion, shame, and brutality of this custom.

This is not about that brutal custom (though I will give it my voice)

This is not about guilting you into feeling better about your miseries because there is always worse.

THIS, is about pain and the big picture of life swirling around us at a hundred million seconds covering us over and over and over with more and more pins and needles and bruising and damaging our hearts again and again.

It’s about seeing other people’s pain and learning to stand beside them in their silence if we can, and it’s about seeing other people’s pain and finding the courage to muddle through our own.

All people, know pain.

I don’t think misery should be measured or invalidated. But I do think some misery deserves a broader picture because sometimes our misery is stuck in a space so narrow we can’t get out.

You are not alone.

You feel misery. So does your neighbor. It does not matter so much sometimes how we come by that misery. But let us see each other and stand beside each other, even abstractly, and find the courage to move beyond that pain.

For me, reading this story drew me out of my world. Sometimes we weep together, and sometimes we weep alone. But we are never, never, the only ones. It doesn’t take my pain away but it makes my world bigger, which makes my pain smaller. And suddenly I have the courage draw my glazed over miserated eyes toward something beyond myself.

It’s idealistic, I know, to see us all solely as humans muddling through this life often in pain (and sometimes beauty) when in reality it’s so, so, much more complex than that. But when I see life like that, everything becomes so simple. Motives, silence, mistakes, cruelty and even evil all seem so simple. So easy to overlook and heal and correct. So easy to move out of our own pain.

There is pain (and hurt) behind it all. It’s all stacked one on another. We just need someone to sit beside us. We just need to see that we are part of something bigger, that our pain is not the only pain.

In my world, if we could all see that, all the time, there wouldn’t be so many complications…so much evil and hate.

We’d reach our fingers into a hardened heart and say: “I acknowledge your pain” and that heart would melt and be sorry for taking your toy truck because really, they just felt left out. And we wouldn’t care what they did because it just was about some form of pain and we knew that.

and we would sit beside each other and breathe because we are not alone.

And then we’d share a cookie.

It’s idealistic, it isn’t the whole story…. and not even I can operate in a world as beautiful and connected as that.

But what if we all could? Even sometimes. There would be less pain. And maybe more interactions where we reach inside each other’s hearts and say“I see your joy, I see your beauty” instead of seeing so much pain.

It would be nice.

Masks

2009-12-22T03:57:00.001-08:00

The following is something I wrote when I hit a point in my life where my optimism and, as I now say, naïve trust, in people was taken for a ride that ended with a heavy dose of cold reality. My butterflies and red balloons suddenly replaced with ugly spiders and deflated magic.

“And so it is, everyone wears a mask.

Some shiny and new portioned out for new roles, new people, new experiences. Dozens in our closet marked up, discarded, broken from use and no longer functional. We rotate them in and out like clockwork. One goes off, one goes on. Switching them only in that brief eye flicker that makes us look for a moment for something we thought we saw that was real.

But we usually don’t notice, we’re too busy adjusting our own mask.

One to cover our eyes.

One to cover our face.

One to shield us from others.

Another to shield others from us.

Who sees any of us without our masks?

Who can we trust?

For what friend does not whisper words of disdain? They mock and glare at the person to their left; do they not mock me to their right? They whisper my secrets to a hundred ears and cover the secret with a “tell no one” as if there is someone left to tell.

What friend sees my blemish and does not slit their eye in a slight of comparative judgment?

What person can I take a piece of my heart and in utter confidence hold it out, naked, bare, exposed?

And know… they will not meet it with honey on their lips and mockery or ambivalence in their heart?

What human can I trust? Not even myself.

For when I look in the mirror I am wearing my mask.

Even my closest friends walks from room to room switching masks unaware as I switch mine; scrabbling to hold on to them for a question that reaches too deep.

I am unaware, they are unaware, all the hidden parts, all the undiscovered lies we don’t even know we ourselves hold.

I go to sleep even with my mask on now. Accustomed to it’s weight I no longer trust even myself.

If I am naked

Who then will I trust to love me?

If they are naked

Who then will they trust to love them?

No One. And no one cares.

No one. We are all busy with our own agendas, switching our masks from one party to the next.

To busy holding tight to even see what we are protecting,

and what we are protecting it from.

Longing for that unabashed nakedness where we can revel in the security of trust,

But too afraid to be the first to remove our mask. "

This is a beautiful quote I heard as a narrative on a show once and I love reciting to myself in whispers as I walk down the street.

"We are none of us alone.
Even as we exhale, it is inhaled by others.
The light that shines upon me, shines upon my neighbor as well.
In this way, everything is connected to everything else.
In this way, I am connected to my friend even as I am connected to my enemy.
In this way,there is no difference between me, and my friend.
In this way, there is no difference between me, and my enemy.
We are none of us alone."

~unknown (to me)

Hypnotic Concrete Ocean

2009-07-20T23:05:00.001-07:00

Today on my Google reader I noticed a blog from GOOD with the tag word

"HYPNOTIC"

So, naturally, curious to be hypnotized without the use of any outside methods other than staring at my screen (like that doesn't happen every day)...I clicked the link.

REALLY? guys.... seriously?
We call this Hypnotic. A faint concrete reproduction of what some call the "Blue Earth".
Really...? I mean- I don't even see any flora or fauna or whatever you call greenery under the sea.
Booooorrring. And while yes, if perhaps I was standing there I would be mesmerized by the flow of the fins and the vast body of a whale gliding past me. But that video... not so much.

And the music is ridiculous. Good song, bad pairing. It's like drinking Dolce with a hot dog.

If you want hypnotic check this out:

Put it on full screen, sit back, and get sucked in. The whole movie was hypnotic.

corporate america comes to call

2009-06-16T00:42:00.000-07:00

Recently I found myself in a morally frustrating dilemma.

Like all restaurants, we have our regulars. We have as detailed notes as possible on each guest:

names of boyfriends
preferred drink
who they know
how fast the like their food
their favorite childhood toy

We print those notes out for Front of House and Back of house staff. Because God forbid we should forget to put salt on their table the moment they are seated OR forget to notify important people in the back that there are important people in the front they have to dilly dally with.

This particular guest comes in only at lunch. We all know him by name and most of us, he knows by name. I won't tell you what he does exactly. But let's just say he gets to come get a free meal while different "potentials" pitch their deal to him, pay for his salmon or steak and two glasses of wine... and in return, he decides what to do with their pitch.
Very nice man.
We would talk to him after his "potentials" left as he moved to the bar for an after lunch drink.
AFTER LUNCH DRINK? working....?
Anyway. So fine- he's a lush. But he's super congenial and polite and we all like him.
Because anyone who looks you in the eye and says please and thank you in this business is an absolute gem in a world of dumb rocks.
yes. I just made up that analogy. thank you.

Anyway, the economy hasn't been doing it's best (THAT'S why your resumes are getting ripped up) and at some point our lovely little patron started requesting copies of the check. At first we just shrugged out shoulders.

SO WHAT if he pretends he doesn't eat here 3 times a week on someone else's tab and always get's the most expensive item on the lunch menu.
SO WHAT if he always orders 2 glasses of wine and pretends to be modest about it.
He's nice.

But a copy of the check.... why?
First we were in Denial. Well....at least I was. Ever the positive thinker that believes the world is incapable of anything but puppy dogs and red balloons I say
"Maybe he just wants to keep track of which days he is eating salmon and which day he is eating steak?"
"No. Jenny. He is getting reimbursed."
"But how could he? He didn't pay for it!"
*crushed*
I walk away. It can't be. So I ignore it.
But then I come in and get him again a month later. I am told by my co-workers that he now asks for a check without the alcohol listed. They start telling me the different ways they hand him the check discreetly. But still that silence sits over the table where everyone knows he got a copy, and everyone knows why.

Sure enough, he orders his salmon and quietly says "and I'll need a copy without the alcohol on it"
I shove that "whatever you say but you're an asshole" smile on my face and say "sure" and go get his wine.
He's not cute now. He isn't nice. He's tricky. He's underhanded, and he's cheating.
But what can I do? He brings business to our restaurant several times a month and usually runs a large tab.
What can they do? he brings business to those people if they keep their mouths shut and pitch it right.

So I bring the host her check. And I slide his check in his hand. And she notices.
She pauses as I walk away. I can't hear what she says but she is clearly confused why he is getting a check. He says something about "records" and "work" and she nods her head. We all see that look. We all know what's going on. But we nod our heads like we believe him.

I was pretty upset leaving work. I considered putting in the notes. DO NOT EVER SEAT WITH JC! But I didn't. Because someone will hand him that check. And I may as well get paid $20-40 to hand it to him....Because it's a hard economy and a lunch shift with an extra $20 to $40 a week is an extra $80 to $160 a month.

So have I just placed my hand on corporate America's hand and helped them in the honeypot? Will I refuse to serve him next time he comes in or will I take him "one last time"?
Guess we'll see.

Vitamin D

2009-04-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

FINALLY.

You'll notice the green grass behind the chair. Months of melting snow and and chilled rain make spring a short hop into summer. I sat outside today and soaked in some much needed Vitamin D.

Though I have been trying to buy seasonal as well as local fruit- there is a lag I am not prepared to deal with in the late winter and early spring (NO MORE SQUASH!). Most of those veggies on my plate are "seasonal" for winter in general but not exactly locational -good enough.

Meanwhile... Apples seem to not mix with my stomach acid (alongside of oranges) so I've passed by apples and instead of only eating grapefruit after grapefruit I have stretched far beyond local and have been stuffing myself with Bananas and Pineapples for now.

Looking forward to when the Farmer's Market sells out of last years squash and apples and the sun's warmth brings fresh greens and lots of peaches and nectarines!

"Let the wild rumpus start!"

2009-03-31T22:33:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone of you reading this has read and cherished the book Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.If you have not... please proceed to do so. I love this book so much that in fact when I DID have checks I got an extra line after my address that read: "let the wild rumpus begin" because...who DOESN'T want to say that anytime they get a check!

As many of you may know the majority of fictional books I read -I'd say 82%- are children and young adult literature. Should you ever need a recommendation...pick me, pick me!

Here is a preview of the movie "Where the Wild Things Are" and I just got goose bumps watching it. I wouldn't normally be SUPER excited about a book being put on screen due to my numerous disappointments in the past. Also, I hadn't considered this book being themed with "Hope". However, I have high hopes because the book uses little words and leaves much room for imagination. So the movie can take liberties with the storyline, I think, without damaging the integrity of it. I imagine there is much argument about this so...we shall see...

Meanwhile, please... enjoy the magic.

Subscription

2009-03-31T22:19:00.000-07:00

Well as some of you may know I haven't had a computer since the fateful day of the inauguration when my brand new year old lap top caked out on me with the "blue Screen of Death".

or something like that...
So yes- I still haven't seen President Obama take that first step.
But I'm so far behind on my TV shows I doubt that's the first video I'll be jumping to... I'm more concerned about Orson's stealing problem on Desperate Housewives.

And no...I STILL don't have my computer back. Don't ask.

The Laptop I am on is from a generous loan from my father and mother. Who got tired of hearing how utterly STRESSFUL, backed-up, uncreative, and backward my life became without a laptop. The scary trips to the library and sneaking up to the hostess desk to check my mail at work. The thought of ONLY checking my email and MAYBE facebook once a day.
It is a horror my friend. it is.

Anyway....I gave up myspace long ago but keep it "just in case". That "just in case" being a perfect bearded man finds me on there and wants to drink some coffee with me...OR someone happens to be on myspace and not facebook.

So I've done some of you a favor and transferred your subscription from my myspace blog- to here. yes- that is the long-winded point to my post. And I call it a favor to you. so pretend it isn't so that I feel better knowing that quite possible TEN people read some of my most precious thoughts.
If you didn't subscribe to my blog previously and i subscribed you- it's cause you hound and hound me about how I need to write so you deserve to subscribe and suffer with everyone else.

You have to confirm it first for it to be official. And if you hate me for doing it please...leave me a comment of facebook so I get a happy red notification telling me I am loved when I log on.

Things I want to do in Life

2009-01-02T13:42:00.000-08:00

Rewind several years...

I sit in my kitchen chair sipping soup and as my friend Mari sits on the couch sipping soup. We pull out our lists and start read...

"Learn Spanish"
"Take an IQ test"

and the list goes on. We read to each other the list of things we want to do sometime, anytime, in our lifetime. We steal from each other, and add things we HAVE done to our list just to cross them off.

It's been about 6 years since we discovered be both had similar lists. With the start of a new year of course we all do something that makes us feel like there might be something different ahead. We take stalk, we look back. Some of us make resolutions, some of us make broad promises to ourselves that Something is going to change, or that we'll eat more fruits and veggies...

Whatever the case to start out my new year, I took down my 2008 work of art. No one has seen it. It was hidden behind a large piece of fabric so it looked like I had a wall hanging. Behind the fabric was a large piece of paper from ceiling to floor painted, pasted, drawn on, and written on with a summery of my 2008 started back in July. Every so often I would take down the fabric, spend a few hours detailing some of my life, and then staring at it for awhile.

It is not finished.
But I guess that is what life is like. Something else always comes along before we are ready for it. We tend to cling to what we had rather than embrace what is before us. So with that in mind....I took down my collage. I think it helped me heal what needed to be healed, it helped me grasp hope and express magic. So even if it isn't quite finished...maybe it is? But in any case it's a new year and I'm tired already of 2008.

So now I have started Sticky Tac-ing new pictures, items, and words to my now bare wall. A new year with the bold words I once doodledin American History class during a lecture:

MAKE IT COUNT

I have shuffled this phrase from place to place over the years.
And among my papers I also ran across my life list...
So Cheers to 2009 and something NEW and BRIGHT and BEAUTIFUL and full of GRACE...

Here are the first 41 from my list (I have 105) any new suggestions...? I'll publish the rest later.

1.Pierce my nose (I changed my mind I want my eyebrow done)----Check!
2.Teach Drivers Ed
3. have a Garden
4.learn how to run a soundboard
5.learn clarinet
6.learn car basics
7. visit every continent
8.teach high school
9.teach college
10. Write a children's book
11. Get a shutter Camera----check!
12. Read War and Peace
13.take a picture that's published somewhere
14.read all the books I own
15.read utopia
16.Learn Italian
17. Get my masters
18.Use a potters wheel
19. Go rock Climbing---check!
20. Explore a cave----Check!
21. Drive a mercedes 240 DL
22.Ride in a hot air balloon
23. Find my family roots in Italy
24. See a tornado (does a wind funnel count?)
25. Go to mass at St. Perters in Italy ----Check!
26 Drive on the Autoban
27. read 100 classics
28. take a REAL IQ test
29. Visit Aushwitz
30. Visit Holocaust Museum in DC
31. Go to NYC
34. visit Nantucket island (blah...I no longer care about this)
35. Milk a goat ----Check!
36. Memorize Hebrews 11-12 and psalm 18
37. Go in a lighthouse and smell the sea air from the top -----Check!
38. Hug a redwood tree
39. Visit PE island
40. Go to Peru
41.Go horseback riding through an open field and into the woods.

Power of Sharpies

2008-12-09T12:07:00.001-08:00

Here is something you don't see everyday...forget the design shows with a budget of $500.... Try $10 and a Sharpie
See Room Here

Virginia "Pepper" Potts

2008-11-17T02:23:00.000-08:00

Those are the Finest Stilettos I have seen in a long time. The whole time Mizz Pepper was wearing them through the movie Iron Man I couldn't stop staring at her feet.

She makes Stilettos look SEXY.

And let me tell you, for ME that is quite the feat.

In fact, it was kinda inspiring. Something about the way those shoes wrap up behind her ankle and around the top made me want a pair of mine own. Made me WANT to wear heels.

???
I know right?

Well considering all the sadness in the world- I'm not going to lie- it seems a bit shallow to write about how I drooled over a pair of shoes. Finding a pair of heels that make me "feel" like Pepper Potts won't get me any closer to a super hero.
I realize I need to be wearing the shoes AND be in distress for a hero to appear.
Just wanted you to know I have a grip on reality here.

But seriously...

"If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture, let us be more ashamed of shabby ideas and shoddy philosophies.... It would be a sad situation if the wrapper were better than the meat wrapped inside it." ~Albert Einstein

"As long as there are cold and nakedness in the land around you, so long can there be no question at all but that splendor of dress is a crime." ~John Ruskin

Despite the quotes...I think all of us sometimes can feel a little boost of confidence when we feel we look good.
I'd like to think that for SOME of us- it's because we already see God's beauty that is inside of us and it makes us happy to see a little of that reflected on our body.
You wouldn't believe how giddy it makes me to wear my red shoes or how relaxed I feel in my gray sweater (which is NOT sexy I promise you). I guess it's nice to wear cloths that seem to fit our mood because it makes us feel in sync?
Is that Necessary?
No, not at all. But it's nice.
And sometimes when we lose sight of the beauty that is inside- I think that throwing on a pair of stilettos may help us remember that.

CAN YOU BELIEVE I JUST MADE STILETTOS MEANINGFUL????
I am bewitched.

but still...I might just wear heels one of these days just for the fun of it. Just last week I actually dressed all nice to go get some groceries.
Try not to fall over from shock.

Becoming Monsters

2008-09-28T16:16:00.000-07:00

I started re-reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller today. And there was a short portion where he spoke about something very…fundamental.

“I am the problem.”

I'm not what you would call a picketer or a social activists that you know....provides roadkill for tractors tearing down historical buildings. BUT like the best of them I can spew out altruistic and political comments that make me sound like I have convictions and I know where the problem lies. But really….do any of us?

Do we look in the mirror and explore

our habits,

our public speaking skill,

our ideas,

and our time management as scrupulously as we explore those in the spotlight?

Granted…most of us aren’t running for president or anything. But does that negate responsibility? If we spend more time judging the actions and movements of others than we do taking stock of our own motives and actions are we really politically or socially concerned or are we just selfish and ignorant?

“I think every conscious person, every person who is awake to the functioning principles within his reality, has a moment where he stops blaming the problems in the world on group thing, on humanity and authority, and starts to face himself. I hate this more than anything... The problem is not out there; the problem is the need beast of a thing that lives in my chest”

Not to say that every problem that exists is our fault. That’s pretty ridiculous. But I’m just saying…we sure do spend a lot of time pointing fingers. We need not live in a mirrored house to see how many problems are caused but us as individuals that make up the collective.

We may scoff at the altruist motto “be the change” but well…maybe we don’t think about it often enough. That is after all the only control we have. I cannot control what others do, but I can control me (usually, unless I’m extra ornery).

I can control what I give that others come into contact with. And if I start paying attention to what I put out there….well maybe that’s the only way I can really affect what others do and propel change.

I think if we watch others do stupid things and point our fingers instead taking a cue

-we’ll find we’ve all become the monster we scoff at:

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you” Friedrich Nietzsche

Awakenings

2008-09-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

If you’ve never see the movie Awakenings it’s a beautiful story based on true events about a doctor who comes across a group of basically catatonic patients who respond to a drug that “wakes” them up for a period of time. I wrote the following excerpt after I watched the movie some time ago when I was going through a bit of a rough patch (not like that’s new!). It gave me just the perspective I needed to latch on to some color and dance around in it:

"I cried through much of the end. It was just what I needed I think to pull me out of my self-centered misery. Not that grieving is bad in my case...
But for someone who believes so much in the beauty of pain- I often forget to live what I write and speak about.

This story reminded me that it is possible to take my pain, and instead of hiding inside myself, I can use it as a way to touch beauty, life, and people.
I have that option.

How can I speak courage to those of a worse fate
when I cannot employ courage at the inklings of pain?

Sometimes it's good to just tell myself to snap out of it.

Stop replaying picture and words and longings. Sometimes I get lost ...and I sit down and weep like a lost little girl. Sometimes I forget to keep moving.
Grieving is not wrong or bad but at some point the tears are no longer an expression of grief but an expression of surrender to things as they are. A hopeless surrender. That is not the way of God, of his love, of his beauty. Pain can be like the silver lining in a blue sky filled with clouds. It highlights the wonder. It sharpens the picture.

The moment a red balloon, a rainstorm, or a star ceases to leave me in a childlike, speechless wonder...
someone please slap me out of it. I am not catatonic. I have a chance.
I don't want to miss it.

The brain takes charge

2008-09-24T17:11:00.000-07:00

Gray, boring, dull, yawing, blasé, undeveloped, unintentional, melancholy, haphazard, flippant,

casual, overcast, inactive

Inspiring isn’t?

I have spent the last few months floating along in a sort of limbo (not exactly the edge of hell type though) with the only intentional actions being:

- I make sure I have clean clothes for work

- I clean once a week

- I check out more books that I could possibly read from the library

Somewhere I lost some of my fervor for life and the magic of the little things has slowly been hazed over. I think about writing, I think about art, I think about sitting with a cup of tea and staring out the window or sending a card to my friend

…but so much of that is just like a bird that jumps out of the field and flutters in front of you and then vanishes.

Certainly I am not depressed. I am active, social, do plenty of stuff, I'm happy (though not content). It’s kinda like I’m on selective Jenny auto pilot. My brain knows I like incense so it has me light it at night. But it keeps me from writing under the influence of the smell. It knows I like chocolate pudding when I am pmsing so it has me go buy it- but I don’t pay attention to its chocolate-ness like I normally would.

Perhaps I put myself through too steep a gauntlet earlier this year in trying to figure out the answer to questions that I don’t know yet. I do that. Sometimes I say to myself when I am crying about something

“tsk- you are too intense. Stop the drama”

“But I like the intensity- it’s colorful”

“well sometimes it’s too much color”

“Impossible !” I say to myself. And I go on crying and reading and asking questions.

“This is ridiculous. GET OVER IT” because some part of me realizes that a good slap in the face is more effective than writing writing writing about something over and over again sometimes. Sometimes you just need to take a break from intensity to ENJOY the color it produces. Sometimes you just need a red balloon and a peaceful mind.

So maybe my few months of induced melancholy and a numbed mind was like my brain saying

“hello? Shut up- what you’re doing is impossible. Quite trying to be like a 70 year old sage with a 27 year old brain! It’s like trying to figure out how to do quantum physics when you can barely remember how to do long division.”

And then my brain slapped me.

And I was like

“ok”

Only I didn’t know my brain was having a conversation with me and I didn’t really know I agreed with it like a little kid nodding his head in agreement because all he wanted was to get to the end of the lecture and get a red balloon.

Only I think technically- I didn’t get a red balloon cause the last few months have been a little colorless. I think my brain thought that was necessary for my mind and I should do without.

What does it know? It’s only 27?

So there you have it. Last night I went to a coffee shop and sat and read for a bit and people watched and all of a sudden my fervor returned and I thought “HEY! Where's my RED BALLOON?!”

and my mind was like "you agreed to give it up moron- your brain told you how tired it was"

and i was like "I WANT MY RED BALLOON BACK!!!" and right there in the coffee shop I slammed my book down and yelled and started pounding the table till someone brought me a red balloon and licorice tea and played some really good jazz music.

and I remembered how much I love people, and God, and reading, and learning. REALLY LOVE it.

And my brain just sighed….and was like “whatever. At least I got you to sit down for a bit.”

That’s when I concocted the whole story above -with my renewed creativity.

My little Parsian

2008-07-22T14:44:00.000-07:00

Well there she is folks!
My brand new old bike.
She's just perfect. I knew we were meant to be together the moment I set eyes on her black and red rusty features. I couldn’t stop thinking about her Parisian persona, her slender and delicate wheels, her distinctive shifting arrangement, her gentle and steady “click click click” as I ride her in certain gears.

I admit, she has far more experience than I do. She probably is aware of all kinds of methods I am unaware of, accessories that will make riding easier, proper safety measures I am to young and impulsive to heed. The places we will go! The things we will see! The gas we will save!

Take me away my little Parisian two-wheeled gas-saving machine! TAKE ME AWAY!

Regret

2008-07-20T11:17:00.000-07:00

If life were a dream, if life had physical representations of what resides in your thoughts and souls- here is a piece.
Something painful has happened.
This mysterious, almost menacing fog has descended on your path.
People handle that grey matter differently depending on who they are. I plunge myself directly into it and sit down. I close my eyes and feel the full course of pain till it has swept through me.

I know the pain.
Then I begin to walk through it. I probe it.

I find whatever beauty I can in it. Like a crocus pushing its way through the snow, or a bite of chocolate pudding during PMS.

I believe all pain carries opportunity for beauty in my life.

“Life is pain highness” said Wesley to Buttercup before he revealed himself.
If life is pain, and life if beautiful, then pain too, is beautiful.

I spend however long it takes to find the beauty, then, I step out of it –and release it.
Essentially, I see the dark for what it is- so when I step outside of it, it dissipates, I know what I am leaving behind, and I let go.

But what happens if you get lost inside?

I tell people that I live my life with no regrets because regrets don't do any good. To be honest, there are two things I regret in this life. I am lost in them. I find I am transporting myself halfway back into my regret and wishing it away. Taking back something that is already done.

It is haunting me.
I have closed my eyes and sat down. It isn’t there *says a stubborn 5 year old or a 5 year old adult*

I realized this yesterday when I went to work. Usually, if I have any unfounded sullen feelings they dissipate once I kick my brain into some other gear. When it’s real- any other gear aside from mind-numbing denial seems to um…push me over the edge a bit (this is what we call a wall/locker kicking moment- the second in my life’s history).

So I’ve realized, my “post-quarter-life crisis” -that I sarcastically and flippantly make fun of myself for- is induced by these two regrets I can’t let go of. I don’t know how other people can let go of things without really knowing what it is. Or how people can hold onto things and still live a relatively normal life with sparks of happiness.

...I apparently do not have that gift.

All or nothing baby. I’m like the pendulum that defies physical science and just never loses momentum from one side to the other.

The good thing about that is… I see beauty in everything.
The bad thing is…when I can’t see the beauty I’m like a puppy looking for their stick with their eyes closed. Stupid.

The ironic things about this all is…. I see the beauty in my collective post quarter life crisis, just not in the individual components. Unfortunately, it's the individual components that keep me here.

So I'm stuck until I find the beauty in these two regrets. ....maybe the question isn't- when will i see the beauty? Maybe the question is, when will I be ready to see the beauty and finally let go.

Note to Self

2008-07-16T16:04:00.001-07:00

My friends (Mar and Decks) and I used to play a game called Preach It. We would search our brain holds to come up with some sort of image or event and create a maxim to represent it. We would then present it to the group and leave it up to them to extract meaning, or present a meaningful "sermon" from it ourselves.

Usually it went something like this (paraphrased from my disjointed memory):

Mari: "our relationships with people are like a bird of paridise beginning to Bloom"

Decks and I: "hmmmmm....huh."
Not being the leading expert on flowers like Mar was (she worked in a flower shop) we could not add to that. So Mari proceeded to explain the process of the flower beginning to bud and how gently you have to almost reach in and pull parts of it out at just the proper time etc etc etc...
Ok actually i forgot most of what she said...

But the point is...Here is MY maxim for today

"Just because things are good separate,
doesn't mean they are good together"

How did I come up with this brilliant Maxim?
I made a smoothie today (doesn't it look good up there?) and threw in:Apricots, Plums, Strawberries, Keefer, Ice, Yerba Mate, Apple Cider Vinegar, Ground Flax Seed.
I drank it....but probably just as you were reading that and thought it sounded good till your face contorted when you got to "yerba Mate" is probably about what my face looked like drinking it.

But hey, you don't have to use my Maxim for Smoothie making- you can use it for things like Gum and Peanut Butter OR Driving and reading.
The possibilities are endless.

How to make a quick thousand

2008-06-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

Should you ever be in a bind and need some extra cash (can be up to several hundred if not over a thousand bucks), you can sell your body. If that's not good news I don't know what is!
or rather...sell your hair.

Most of us are aware that you could donate it to Locks of Love. Which is wonderful option. And normally I would advocate for the goodwill offering rather than the money option but... $1000 much needed cash could come in handy....

There are a couple sites that are a "yardsale" of hair similar to craigslist (the hair trader). you post pictures of your hair and description and...
BANG
-you market it right and you got yourself a snazzy new haircut AND some extra cash. Course, if you subject your hair to a blow dryer, a monthly color and highlighting, and endless curling and straightening- chances are, you won't get the bang for your buck. But otherwise- it's a better option I think than selling your entire body, an egg, or for some of us (faint faint) our plasma.

Here's how my add would read.

"Virgin, rich chestnut, shiny, 16" hair. Never used heat elements on it, never dyed or highlighted. Washed once to twice a week, conditioned daily. Only used all natural shampoo and conditioner, no chemicals. Treated with care to grow long and healthy. Healthy diet, healthy hair. Has natural wave to it and can be curly if scrunched when wet. Asking price $1000. Paypal only. Must receive payment before hair is cut and sent."

anyone? anyone?

Witch of Portobello

2008-06-11T12:48:00.000-07:00

A great book by Paulo Coelho

I was recently talking with a friend about why, after time and time of God supplying what we need and working everything out...we continue to worry? It's as though our human condition relegates that we must worry. Because to not worry, is to admit lack of control.

Maybe worry and accepting stress is our pathetic way of feeling as though we retain control.

I read this passage from the Witch of Portobello and although he is talking about love, it nails exactly what we were talking about. We don't want to be saved the way God saved us. We want to be saved in a way that doesn't require us to sacrifice anything- even misery. Because if we at least keep misery, we still have a psuedo feeling of control.

"surrendering completely to love, be it human or divine, means giving up everything, including our own well being or our ability to make decisions. It means loving in the deepest sense of the word. The truth is that we don't want to be saved in the way God has chosen; we want to keep absolute control over our every step, to be fully conscious of our decisions, to be capable of choosing the object of our devotion."

Something to think about.

Here is a bonus quote:
"What is a teacher? I'll tell you: it isn't someone who teaches something, but someone who inspires the student to give of her best in order to discover what she already knows."

Bless your bike

2008-06-09T00:07:00.000-07:00

Yes you read right.
And though we've missed it (April 26th, 2008) it's sure to come around again next year.

The annual Blessing of the Bikes

biking as we all know is great for your health and it's great for this wonderful little ball of rock and other geological materials we live on. But lets face it...your um- rather exposed out there.

Why just last month while I was polishing the glasses and silverware preparing for lunch when a hit and run with a man on a bike occurred just out our windows at what i now label the "deadly 4 corners" (you would too if a crane went out of control careening down the hill into this intersection, 2 collisions, a hit and run, and a gang shooting occurred within a month). Not only did the car hit the biker and zoom off- but the biker flew off the bike into another car...kinda like the opening scene to Meet Joe Black. Miraculously (and I do mean that) the man survived with less than a broken bone.... maybe he attended the Blessing of the Bikes?

It's held each spring at New York City's cathedral Church of St John the Divine (or CCSJD as some call it). a little blessing and sprinkle of holy water and your good to go (bring your bike but leave your cleats at the door). The ceremony has a few sacred moments- a riderless bike walked to the front to remember those who died on bikes and a scripture reading.

While at first I was inclined to scoff at this silly little ritual...I actually think it's interesting. Not that I think without the sprinkle of Holy Water your doomed...But it's a nice reminder and awareness of God's involvement in your daily interactions.

Last time I rented a car I spent a lot of time praying while driving it. First I started praying that nothing would happen cause I was racked with fear as I signed "no" to all the insurance options...But then I found myself praying for my friends...and I was more aware of God in my life and suddenly I felt so thankful for everything I had. A little awareness can go a long way. I'm pretty sure too, when I find myself riding a bike, I'll start out asking God for some safety, but next thing I'll know, I'll be more aware of God around me and not just my bike safety.
So go ahead I guess- bless those bikes or - bikers.

kisses

2008-05-31T00:16:00.000-07:00

I am so tired.
anxious.
lonely.
Tired of this place.
Tired of this job.
waiting. waiting for what?
anything. anything.
a train to take me away from all I know.
unfamiliarity calls to me.
bored.
I am one of those people. floating.
looking in a mirror and seeing what I loathe.
wondering what good.
what change
can occur near me.
from me
by me.
i shake my head.
what is in my hands that i can give?
I am tired of not giving.
tired of not being.
tired.
tired of me.

I long so much for a home I have never been to.
A home I can only feel my heart crave for.
aching from the separation.

i shake my head.
walk away from the mirror.
useless thoughts.
wasted thoughts.
where can i get new ones?

then. now. here.

stardust falls upon me.
tiny sighs of relief,
glimpses into true reality.
kisses of home.

love, deep red love.
grace, clear translucent grace.
hope, warm tender hope.
tears. falling. renewing. reminding.

I feel humble.
warm.
amazed.
kissed by stardust.
now i see.
now nothing matters.
now the pearl of great price is in front of me.
now nothing little is worth much.
petty.

I'll take the stardust.
I'll take God's grace.
they sit.
sacred.
in my hands.
in my head.
in my soul.
i have something to give.
if only for today.

A Tip

2008-05-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

"Prom and Joyce Meyer conference this weekend" we hear circulating around work.
For those of us who know who Joyce Meyer is we groan.
For those of us who worked prom season last year we groan.
(I groaned for both).

we are well aware of those who tip 10% or less.
and among a few others...prom and Joyce Meyer Christian people fit into that category. Don't get me wrong, I'm a Christian and I was raised among the 10%ers and I was taught to tip better than that and behave better than that (Thanks Earl and Linda). I broke the stereotype and everyone has a chance to. Most just don't. And it pisses me off.

"We are in a hurry to go to a Joyce Meyer conference" my table says. Oookkkkayyy.... I'm on it. I expedite their food, run my ass off for their every request, and give a polite laugh when they can't for the life of them figure out why there isn't salt and pepper on the table like the local diner and think it's the funniest thing since Bob Saget narrated home videos.
All the while I try to remain optimistic that they aren't like everyone else.
After they leave and I am confident they received the best possible service I open the check. $42 bill...$3.98 tip.
wow. Jesus loves you too. Instead of helping me pay rent you just contributed towards a cup of coffee or half a tank of gas. awesome.

Why is it that instead of taking comfort in the fact that my guests pray before their meal I roll my eyes and mark them off for any money. They talk about pastors, Jesus, Church politics, and helping people and I guess they are so poor they can't afford a tip. But it wouldn't bother me SO much (other people leave 10% too) if they didn't demand, pick apart, and treat you like shit before they leave you nothing. Even on the Christian radio they laugh about how they made their waitress run around for all their requests. OH that was SO FUNNY.

Now I just wait for the prom kids to come in, steal our candles, giggle while they throw bread at eachother, and leave us 10% tip with mom and dad's credit card.

Not saying I'm perfect. No one models Jesus love all the time. But something is wrong when every person who works in the food industry knows that most Christians tip poorly.

Here's a tip: don't ask me if I know the Lord and then leave 10% when your every whim was catered too. If your what Jesus looks like then no wonder so many people groan.

sorry-I know it's on the hypocritical side but had to get it out. sigh.

Carcinogen! Carcinogen!

2008-05-19T01:59:00.000-07:00

Sorry....
I can't help but advocate for a little organic and green movement in everyone's life.
I try not to offer unsolicited advice (not very good at it yet). And I try not to be one of those people who make you feel like a cad for wearing antiperspirants.

But from time to time you will hear me spout off something or yell in your ear "carcinogen! carcinogen!" as you put on your lotion or lather your face.

It's cause I care.
The stupid FDA approves a million additives, preservatives, and chemicals in small individual doses (not combined) never taking into consideration that
1. producers would use more than ONE toxin in their product
2. consumers would have more than ONE product containing several toxins.
3. some toxins react to other toxins and are rendered unsafe by association.

Smart dudes.... real smart. Now we all have toxic cocktails in our cabinets.

That's it. I like you and I don't want you getting cancer, or having birth defects, or the kids to start having kids at 7.

The Great Marshmallow Experiment

2008-05-19T01:09:00.000-07:00

The marshmallow experiment is a famous test conducted by Walter Mischel.

A group of 4 year old children had marshmallows placed in front of them. They were told that they would receive another marshmallow if they waited 20 minutes before they ate the first one.
fast forward to their adolescent years... research indicated that those who held out the 20 minutes scored 210 points higher on their SAT in comparison to those who had eaten the marshmallow right away. They also were more calm and competent versus sulky and irritable later in life.

This is an interesting concept to me and I often find myself thinking "don't eat the marshmallow". In fact, I once wrote a note and tacked it above my bed that read:

"Remember the Marshmallow"

I mean, of course, metaphorically.
The concept, in my opinion, is not that it is bad to eat the marshmallow right away. That, in and of itself is fine. The marshmallow is good, why not enjoy it now? So what if I don't get another one, maybe I don't need another one. Two, might make me sick.

The problem though, is when I eat the marshmallow immediately because my mouth is filled with so much saliva I can't function until that gooey mass of processed sugar is in my mouth. That is when you are controlled by the desire.

Another way of looking at it I think is to imagine a beautiful smelling rose. When you smell it you take part in it, in what it is. You enjoy what it offers. You walk away happy that you got to smell it. It's just there- a passing pleasure that was lovely.

But what happens when you are always thinking about how good it smells and your mood is worse when you can't smell it. The aroma of the rose no longer enhances your life, it dominates it. In other words you no longer take pleasure in what it is, you are only interested in what it gives you.

Your admiration and derived pleasure for something beautiful has become a selfish desire no longer bent on appreciation, but on satiation. You only want something because it momentarily satisfies a desire not because that thing is necessarily good or beautiful.

Not that splurging on say some chocolate pudding when I crave it means I am doomed. spontaneity is beautiful too and it doesn't mean domination. I guess what I'm trying to say is I think there is a balance and that's what the marshmallow test reminds me of. It reminds me to enjoy what I have but when enjoyment becomes something that controls or consumes me- I've lost the beauty.

that's all. just...if your going to eat the marshmallow- be careful of what it can do to you. It can be delicious and wonderful and you go on with your day with a little wonderful. Or it can haunt you till you taste it again, and again, and again.

I'd like to think maybe I'm the kid who held out 10 minutes for the marshmallow and decided I was cool with just one and ate it and went on my merry way. sweet.

Disclaimer: I do not recommend trying this experiment on your children with marshmallows. They are bad for you. Try it with your favorite organic fruit...like watermelon or strawberries. It'll be a serving (or two if they hold out) of fruit and an indication of your child's future SAT scores. BONUS!

31% cynic

2008-04-29T22:41:00.000-07:00

Good News!
According to this highly scientific test I generally see the glass half full!

Cynicism

"According to your responses, you are generally the type of person who believes in the goodness of humankind. You give nearly everyone the benefit of the doubt (at least until proven wrong), and will often accept what people say and do at face value instead of making conjectures about their motives. You will at least try to find the good in even the most difficult of people, and are willing to place your faith in others. Unlike their more positive counterparts, pessimists have a lot of difficulty trusting others, believing that most, if not all people have hidden agendas. Tempered with that necessary dose of skepticism, your fairly trusting and accepting nature is refreshing, and likely provides you with a much more balanced and upbeat perspective overall."

__________________________
Which I think is absolutely true.
I think my in filter is pessimistic which is why I initially take things rather hard and end up in some nice depressing holes. But my out filter is optimistic which means I almost always end up seeing the beauty in things. And most times, things come in and go out so fast I don't have time to even notice the pessimistic outlook because it's already been filtered through the optimistic. Lucky me! That all stems from my "Shoulder Shrug Theory" which is for another time.
The problem is when one thing is coming in and one thing is going out at the same time.
That is when I annoy myself.
Quandary # 4356 about myself solved.
(you didn't even know it WAS a quandary did you?)

eating my own words

2008-04-29T22:19:00.000-07:00

There are times we come across a great idea or concept (hip hip).We get excited about that idea and think about it lots and we talk about it with other people.

Maybe, we even blog about it.

Of course,

... There are times when you realize your foot just ended up in your mouth...

When the things you crafted in your head and then so heartily ate make you sick to you stomach.

I just spend the last 2 hours thinking "that's not fair" over and over and over again concerning an event that I had just found out occurred.
I thought it,
kicked a couple walls and...er...lockers,
thought it again.
Took a breath to say it again and found myself cut off -there was something squeaking in my ear...

It was my own voice echoing back my recent penned words of "so what?" and reminding myself of all little beautiful things I had written that come from un-fairness! The nerve of me! It didn't make me feel better, it made me bitter at myself for writing words that came to chase me in my peppy optimistic little voice. It's annoying when I can't argue with myself and it's even more annoying when i want to kick some more lockers.

Sometimes, I just downright annoy myself. It's just not fair. (so there!)

Van Gogh's journal

2008-04-27T16:26:00.001-07:00

'To lose a passport was the least
of one's worries. To lose a
notebook was a catastrophe.'
Bruce Chatwin

I certainly feel the same way. I have several notebooks and journals that are in working order and should I find myself somewhere without paper and pen I feel...rather naked.

There's just something about pen and paper. About the contact of a writing utensil as it forms lines and swirls to become something potentially life changing.
The contents become invaluable.

And it's different each time. I search for journals. Certain types need to be simple or ornate, plain or lined, large or small. Sometimes I have to write with pencil, sometimes a certain pen, sometimes even a certain color. I have a journal where I right musings from life that are half thinking on paper and half prayers. I have 3 mead notebooks for general info, historical studies, and writing excerpts from books and publications ; I have a quote journal (my fanciest journal); a blank journal to scribble pictures of fancy words ornately; and last but not least...
my moleskin.

(shameless plug below)

Moleskine is a product I scoffed at for quite awhile. Who would pay that much for paper just because it has "history". Too Fancy. As though a certain journal will really change the way you write or think.
As some of you may know however, I easily buy into things...
One day in college my friend Megan took me to the school library and we stood in front of pictures of alumni in our school library. We stood and stared for a few minutes, contemplating their lives. Their history, their impact.
Since then I feel almost everywhere I go there is a sacred history. People, places, cars, pictures. This tea cup I drink rose tea out of in this coffee shop....holds history. Who picked this tea, dried it? where is it from? Who else has drank out of this cup and this tea pot? what conversations have occurred at this table? Everything.

Then one day my friend Matt bought a moleskin and before I could say some snide comment on the waste of money he transformed the notebook into a sacred text "it was used by Van Gogh"

Bam. I was sold. I bought into it.
...the famed journals used by Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway. I buy into the inspirational guise and fork out the 16.95 for the lined journal as though it's link to the past will connect me to the minds who have purchased from the same company.
It makes me smarter- I mean I sound smarter right now don't I? (note the self mockery)

Actually even though it's still just paper, it is my belief in that paper that reminds me of the history of others. My first moleskin is used for a book log. I write down the books that have altered my thinking and include the most thought provoking passages. So in a way- it does connect me. I hold that notebook and feel linked to those words, ideas, and authors.

Call me a sucker....but I know in my future there will be more Moleskins. I have just found out that Moleskine now has a city notebook line (Mari you might like these). Maps and markers, transportation and space to log your city experiences. I'm not usually too fond of those journal's that "help" you with entries. however considering my recent conversion to theses journals I anticipate the release of more cities and shamelessly recommend their products.

(end of shameless plug)

I encourage pen (or pencil) to paper. Sometimes I write my initial thoughts on the computer. Sometimes my hand writes slower than my fingers type and I need to keep up with the spinning thoughts. But often- half the release of writing comes not from the meaning in the words, but in merely forming the symbols across the page and seeing your work.
Writing
"I feel trapped" or "My soul is peaceful"
means a lot more scribbled on a piece of paper than it does typed in a word document.

Writing doesn't have to be long. Even one sentence can mean the world to you or someone else. No matter what type of paper it's on...
try it.

p.s. if you don't like what you wrote you can convert it to Toilet paper....

treading water

2008-04-23T14:44:00.000-07:00

sometimes it just feels like the world is out for the good people.
?maybe it's cause I know mostly good people?
maybe cause I don't seem to notice the injustice that occurs with the not so good people. Maybe...(ironically) I think it's only fair that bad things happen to bad people.

But sometimes I look around and it seems that no matter where my head turns it's just shitty in every direction. And it makes me want to scream and shove a couple noses up into a couple brains. There just aren't enough band aids to go around and even if there were enough...applying a band aid on a broken spirit just doesn't seem to do the trick.

philosophy sounds so meaningful and good in the abstract: caves, chairs, shadows and never stepping the same river again...
but in real life. people getting screwed -Philosophy is a bit different.

All those catch phrases, all those quotes. They seem like a slap in the face to those who need it most. They are really best for before you need it as a memory stored up to run like a feed through your head when you need it. Those inspirational messages are seemingly appropriated for a time of crisis. However, when your trying so hard to keep your nose above the water and then to have someone yell down at you:
"It's always darkest before the sun comes out buddy!"
or
"Hey man, What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

hardly the help you were looking for while your treading water and trying not to breath it in as it rises. A couple more friends yelling down at you and I'd want to submerge myself just to shut their optimism out.

So I guess...maybe when everything seems to be crashing and you can't figure out how to help them I guess all you can do is figure out how to jump in and at least tread water beside them. Maybe you have a rope, it isn't life or death for you...but at least your beside them.
i guess.
(sometimes I'm not even sure how to do that much)

I quit

2008-04-23T12:23:00.000-07:00

That is all I have to say.

a different side of fair

2008-04-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

"it's not fair"

So? Who cares? "Fair" does not necessarily denote good. We all sit around cross legged on the ground passing around a communal cup and talk about what is and isn't fair deeming ourselves the judges of what is good. We toss around words not comprehending their meaning.

If we advocate for fairness then we ultimately advocate for a universal distribution of good as well as evil. Fair is impartial. Fair is conforming to a set of rules or laws of justice (probably whoever uses the phrase above refers to their own set of rules) irregardless of extenuating circumstances.

However, fairness can create a void of grace, of goodness, and kindness. All things we don't deserve, but receive -fairness withholds. fairness can bring selfishness and righteous vindication by paying attention only to the rules rather than the person. Even when God had to appease the idea of fair for our good it brought the greatest sorrow with the death of his son...that wasn't very fair. But I think it was good- even beautiful. We've all screwed up and gotten excused. We stand there shocked that greater repercussions didn't occur. We realize we didn't get what we deserve...we have just participated in a good unfair act.

So the next time you hear yourself say "but that isn't fair" think about what you really mean. Think about what standard or right you are claiming has been broached. Sometimes, it's a bad thing it has been violated, and sometimes...so much good can come from that violation we'll soon be passing our our own unfair acts to those around us.

A Choice

2007-10-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

"I suffered, but things that don't kill you make you stronger. How could I possibly show my children the right path in life if I let life break me down? ~Safeta, Bosnia

I feel so American.
So American in the way so many may view us. wanting. spoiled. young. not understanding the cold.
removed.
Like a private school daddy's girl walking past a homeless girl and hurrying home to catch my favorite show.
There is so much more.
I suppose in some ways we are all products of our environment. Surrounded by the latest technology and style we walk by it and want it. Surrounded by it, it can easily consume us. Or instead...is our environment a product of us? One way makes us a victim and removes responsibility. It's a note excusing what we have been made for the time being. The other places the responsibility on us and gives a choice: succumb to it or change it. (it is both I think, but the importance is in which you allow to come first)

Safeta is a Bosnian who was raped repeatedly while her husband was out digging trenches in a work camp during the Bosnian war. They did not kill her assuming she would kill herself. Before the war Bosnia held pride in different nations living on the same soil. "most people identified themselves as Bosnians first and secondarily as members of ethnic groups." She was raped by her neighbors she lived peacefully by for years- the ethnic ties now had ripped the peace apart. Now she when she hears voices she follows the voices to see if one of them was her attacker.
"I want them to see that I am still alive, that they did not kill me, neither body nor soul, nor will they ever be able to do it" She is a product of her environment, marred by memories and left with scars- a victim. But her defiance and hope take control of that and changes her from victim to ...a human living life...i can't think of a poignant word but her choice has brought her above her circumstances. Shaping her- yes- consuming her- no.

As Victor Frankl, a holocaust survivor wrote "Every day, every hour, offers the opportunity to make a decision - decision which determined whether you would or wouldn't submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of yourself, your inner freedom, which determined whether or not you would become a plaything of circumstance..."

tears fall silently down my cheek reading of women and men and the suffering they endure. Now... not to get all rastifari/hippi on you but...these are our brothers and sisters. Fellow human beings. At first I find myself moved by pity and probably as a typical person removed from a situation i want to throw some money their direction to help them out. But pity elevates one above the other. Pity keeps us from learning and leaning on each other. It keeps us from love and I think from seeing God as he is. A deeper look brings humility (and thus empathy which keeps us as equals). perhaps the real difference is the adversity. I lack their harrowing tales that have embedded in them strength, wide eyes, and deeper convictions. I do not envy their pain, but I envy what their pain has produced.

it makes me shift my focus.
It brings me to humility. Oh God you are so good to give me what i do not deserve. even so good as to speak to me when i am not listening and giving when i do not ask. Here God speaks to me through these people fathoms away. do they know God is speaking through their lives to a girl in the northwest?
Once again...i re-evaluate. i long for simplicity. any moment the comfort of an early morning and starry night, warm tea and showers, summer and winter clothes, music to fill my ears may be snatched from me. Who i am, what i receive and what i give has to come from above all those things. If i live in that simplicity then perhaps when diversity comes I too will not be a victim and let life break me down. But I will stand up and defiantly cling to what is real.

meanwhile, I find I no longer "need" a lot of things I have in my mental list. Certain problems or feelings that were overwhelming seem so small and removed from truth. Now I long to come alongside my brother or sister, those who need help standing and instead of pulling them up on firm footing I can put my arm around theirs and walk to firm footing with them. sharing our humanity...hoping when my foot slips and I need to look defiantly in the face of any kind of death someone too, will hold my arms up. I am removed from their pain...yes. i don't know what they suffered. But the things they have learned- their stories can bring- beauty to us. It can prepare me for what I know life will inevitably bring. For that I feel a kindred-ness, and thankfulness towards those who share their pain. it helps us push through and rise above (or out depending on you preposition of choice)

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing. The last of human freedoms- to choose ones own way, and there were always choices to be made" Frankl

My Lifeline

2007-06-21T13:41:00.000-07:00

Oh God!

Thou art love!
I build my faith on that!

I know thee,
Though hast kept my path
and made light for me in the darkness.

Tempering sorrow, so that it reached me
like a solemn joy;

It were too strange that I
should doubt thy love.

~Robert Browning

water wings

2007-06-06T13:40:00.000-07:00

A table tucked away in corner. Flooded with dusty afternoon sunlight.

She sits and stares.

Annoying music muffled by earphones playing empathetic music-feeding and soothing her pain. She sits in the café, in this corner, at a wooden driftwood table for two; sipping Jasmine tea from black mug. To her right a black kettle rests holding a reservoir. In front of her, sits her journal.

She sips, she sits, she stares.

She glances around every so often. She imagines a wise person meeting her eye across the room. This wise person with a knowing eye holds her gaze until they sit in the empty seat. They draw her layers with their words and speak life to her.She turns up her music. No one pays attention. The café's music is not fit for her mood. The weather is though; it is an overcast yellow day. It holds a wistful if only with windblown branches and tousled hair.

She sips her Jasmine tea and pours more from the pot.

Then, she embraces her pain.
It squeezes around her heart, the heart that doctors can't reach- her soul heart.
She tries to let the flavor of the tea, the sounds in her ears, and the wind in the windows melt over her. To consume her. She tries to force a smile with her eyes.
She glances down at her journal:
"Drowning, falling.
Slowly, sinking, holding my breath.
Everyone is outside, breathing, living, laughing.
My hope is here somewhere, I have to swim through to find it."

She looks up at the window again. Tired.
Being miserable makes you so tired. Tired of being miserable. But too tired to want anything else. She thinks. She considers writing that down. But that is too much work.

She stares. She waits until she finds a pocket of pleasure from what she sees, hears and tastes. Just enough to give her courage.She smiles with her eyes. A fierce determined smile. A transient smile of hope.

But she can't seem to stop the confusing words. They rush back at her and plunge her within herself. They make her sick. Regret. She shrinks wishing the words would consume themselves and pull her in. cover her. Drown her into a comatose state where she doesn't have to fight. Kill her. She is already half dead. Grieving the death of the living. The living cold. The unwanted.

The wind blows and locks her eyes on the waving branches knocking gently against the window. She pours more tea. Sip. Stare. Drama she tells herself. Stop it.

She wants to stand in the wind with her eyes closed, her arms out, her hair swirling. Flying.

She finds a voice of courage. The most courageous thing you can do is to move on and let go. She doesn't know how, but she takes the small piece of bravery she has and whispers for help, refuses blame, shuns bitterness.
She relaxes. She breathes. She smiles with her lips.

She finds she has been given just enough to find grace.
She has found her water wings.

"Sometimes Grace works like Water Wings, when you feel you are sinking"

~La Mantt

all things beautiful become old

2007-01-10T13:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was looking through my shoes…trying to recall why I bought most of them.
Cute?
Practical?
A bargain?
Perfect?
Now they sit in a pile in my closet and I am waiting one seasonal rotation of weather to get rid of them (as recommended for impulsive people). They aren't necessarily useless…but somewhere along the way they have become unappealing and I no longer reach for them. Which got me thinking a lot of things are like that...

We can't stop looking at beauty when it first comes. But we look at it for so long that it becomes as familiar as everything surrounding it. And suddenly- it's just- blah, normal. At first you're so excited about those shoes and you want to wear them all the time; but slowly we wear them less and less…they just don't fit right, don't match, -they have lost their luster.

In a way- that's scary to me. Because we get so excited and it's almost embarrassing how quickly we discard the object of excitement for something newer that seems more exciting. How can we trust ourselves?

Of course I hope you realized I am not only speaking of shoes- but of the real things that come into our life- Shoes, shirts, friends, ideas, faith, books, food, cars…

Then again...

What about the old shoes we can't wear enough? How does it pass the process where its holes become like home? A companion. At what point do those lucky few objects pass through excitement, obtain familiarity and wear and tare, and retain their beauty in an endearing way that makes their age a comfort preferred to new and exciting?

huh. It's a rhetorical question. We don't question it really. You never know what will pass the test, it just seems to happen. Some friendships fade and some withstand the wear. Some ideas hold and some are released. Some gifts become a treasure while others become garbage.

I am continually searching for "the one" pair of shoes that will pass the test. I cringe whenever I buy a pair of shoes because well...will they become what I'm looking for? A signature for my feet, always there, always comfort, always practical, always my style? I have a pair in the running- high hopes for them really…but the luster is still there. Will they continue to garb my feet when the newness fades into familiarity? ...Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I am still looking for that pair of shoes that slip onto my feet and feel like home.

The beat of native red

2006-11-29T13:38:00.000-08:00

The color of red beats in my ears and into my soul.

I listen and close my eyes...

Fires burning, shadows dancing, drums pounding, voices lifting. My body and heart sway with each fluctuation of music. This music holds such an intentionality and determination to produce something from within-releasing it.

One voice backed by many,
releasing a prayer,
a story,
a feeling,
a word,
a place,
a memory,
a value,
a truth.

It reverbs, it sways, it echoes.
It is bright and dark,
the sunrise breaking through and the sunset giving way to the stars.
It is sorrow and hope,
young and old,
innocence and experience.

The sounds create a purpose beyond the circumstance- everything together releasing it to provide strength.
A voice,
a beat,
a movement,
a focus,
concentration,
a dance of sound,body, words, and life.

It produces in my soul a story, something I can't contain but seems to seep in and pushes out of me. I grasp the hope shrouded in painful melodies and feel something that is beyond right here. I want more than anything to take part in this unguarded circle of clapping, singing, moving, and flying.

Whether they know it or not woven is echoes of heaven…these pockets in the music that I stumble to catch, to preserve the whispers and hold on to the truths. To keep hope lifted through another day, another hour, another sorrow, another irritation, another wall…an inspiration that breaks me into reality and up from my muddled, mundane view from the mud.

How indescribable is God's grace to bestow through a rhythm stars from heaven into my soul.
How beautiful

journals from the desert

2006-11-16T13:37:00.000-08:00

I want to give.
Daily my heart's desire is met with my self greed. I am tired of shoving aside my irritations and of personalities that annoy me. I am at war with what I so desire and what carries such quick gratification.

So I am living in the desert trying to accept my freedom from my old life of slavery. But my freedom does not feel complete. Often it feels more binding. I am traveling to the promised land but my desert life seems so bleak it is hard not to remember the safety of my slavery.

My slavery is a picture, a life already experienced-tangible. I remember the sweet juice of its empty fruits. The pain is but a word "remember the pain?" I tell myself. No. it's a word- no longer does it carry an ache. So, unbidden, those pictures play in my head over and over calling, distorting, and confusing me. My old life was so easy, reality is so far.

My reality is this desert. This harsh land that I walk where I can't always figure out what is good and what is sweet. I keep returning to my tent to play those pictures because I deceive myself thinking the fruit I remember will satisfy…though it always leaves a deeper thirst.

But I grow tired of pictures and I find that I need to learn to breathe the passing desert and the coming reality of the Promised Land. Sometimes I gain the courage to face the desert and look over the harsh land and look for God. The panoramic dunes are too harsh but I see his beauty reflected in one grain of sand that blows across the desert floor.

This grain of sand on my fingertip.

My torment and hunger for my prison world dissipates and a peace of true reality descends on me. I look up to see God alive in the people milling around me. Life becomes clear. My questions are not answered but they no longer torment me. I rest in the reality of my future home. I see that I cannot live in Heaven while I walk on earth- but that this desert can contain such beautiful fragments of that Promised Land that I can not want anything less. I have seen and tasted the pearl of great price in the grain of sand and shall want and seek for nothing but to have that pearl, to embody it, to share it, until I hold it in my hands forever.

I wish I could find a way to carry that grain of sand with me. So often wind comes and blows it from my hand and I turn to see where it went and find the shadows of my old world. Sometimes it requires such concentration. The beauty and strength that envelops me when I hold that fragment in my hand…yet it's a mystery how quickly it slips through my fingers. I crave those fragments.

The tangible daily excursions of life rob me of it so often. The enemy seeks to recapture me in the most cunning and supple ways. He blows through the desert and finds my cracks of weakness, my doubt, my personal irritations, tired body, and too late…I see my gain of sand gone.

"To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."
~William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

brief encounters

2006-10-16T13:35:00.000-07:00

Today I had a few brief exchanges with a man named James at a book store who seemed fascinated that I read Children's lit. As always the conversations between two strangers flux between enjoyment and curiosity till they end with a dismissive comment. Dismissed not because the solidarity of the topic ran dry; but because neither party is sure of the motives that keep it going.

Is he normal?
Is he a lonely person?
Stalker?
Hitting on me?
What does he expect?

And so we both settle back into our own stories and in the back of my mind I wonder what the purpose was to our encounter if at all? I may never know. Often I fear the powerlessness of my words. What does our silence hold? What would happen if I said what was on my mind to a perfect stranger?

We all regress into our silence eventually.

A little while later a little girl walked up to me and began asking me questions about buttons and who was sitting where. I enjoyed speaking with her for a few moments while the father stood off watching his daughter. He finally called her away- I assume because he didn't want her to exhaust her welcome into my world of reading. I settled back into my book.

Ten minutes later a man came and squatted down next to me. Slightly disturbed or alarmed at what he was doing I fashioned my face into a look of inquiry waiting for him to state his purpose. He started saying that not a few minutes ago I was speaking with a young girl "oh yes uhhuh" I responded relieved he wasn't hitting on me as he was 20 years older and thinking he must just be looking for the father…then he clarified "I'm not weird or trying to hit on you but I was watching you interact with her and" well to be honest his exact wording is lost on me. The general gist was that he saw a light occur in that encounter, that I had a presence or demeanor about me when I was speaking with the little girl that was open and refreshing and he wanted to let me know that. I was shocked and flustered because by now everyone was perking their ears or peeking above their books wondering what he was saying to me all the while pretending they were into their own respective worlds. I said thank you so much and he walked away. I quickly returned to my book wondering what one says to that and yet, at the same time realized that the nature of his compliment lifted my heart.

God it seems, had offered me a pocket of grace. As it was a rather rough day in the thought world and I was feeling rather useless and far from God this man had just lifted me above all that. I realized that God can still be seen in me and I felt honored at that and even more desperate for God's help and presence in my life. How could all of that occur from such a simple strangers comment?

That man did what do few of us do. Thank each other for emanating pockets of grace, for giving love- whether he meant to or not he acknowledged God's presence among us. He saw something good and he wanted to encourage it's beauty and what is beauty but reflections of God?

How many times do I see or feel the overwhelming delight in a friendship or a simple passing human interaction that brings a burst of beauty and I walk away. I harbor that piece of joy and never share it and never encourage because I am surrounded by strangers. Would it be crazy to walk up to a mother and tell her how refreshing it is to see her playing on the playground with her son? To compliment a stranger? I didn't think that man was weird, Instead he took the lenses and allowed me to see the beauty as though I were a spectator and not a participant. Are we so afraid? Can we spread pockets of grace to those who walk beside us enabling them to see what was unapparent to their own eyes?

We are all unknown filters of stardust, spectators and participators of every moment.

Any time we pass goodness to each other the love that is God filters through us and often we are unaware of his power interacting among us. The more we watch for it and the more we see of it the more we can expose the beauty to each other and find that we are all not so different
and
God is not so distant from us.