You wouldn't know, even if I told you.

Wordpress

2009-09-07T15:52:00.002-04:00

I am now writing here, if you care to follow:

http://thejcannon.wordpress.com/

The curse of too many options

2009-08-12T08:42:00.003-04:00

I sat beside Mel in the car, driving home from the Bollywood movie, thoughts parading their way through my brain. It seemed as though the thoughts were superficial and fleeting, quickly leading to the next thought, and the next, until the train of connection was entirely forgotten, broken. Like rocketships, they shot into the sky of my mind, speedily heading towards space, leaving the atmosphere immediately.

Suddenly, a revelation of why I have been in a funk all day today: tomorrow I am going to meet with my old boss to discuss being reemployed by Liberty Mutual in exactly my old position. I never thought this would happen - my old position is a highly coveted one that rarely becomes available. I instead thought I’d be working in an office, doing a new type of work for the same old company, fighting new battles instead of old. This was exhilarating at first - the job comes with great pay, compensation for the gas I spend or a company car, the freedom of my own schedule, and working from home - however, it quickly turned into a concern that I wasn’t able to vocalize, dread and emotions that I didn’t then realize were related to this circumstance.

I feel trapped.

Acceptance of this job is akin to running on a parallel line to my Orlando past, and it looks so similar that I am frightened of returning to that person I was as well. It was my biggest fear in leaving Australia - that all of the lessons I’ve learned would be forgotten, the battles and enemies reengaged, and the insecurities I kicked out would resurface.

 And so,

I sit, hearing many talk of leaving Orlando these days, and I already see the shadows, ghosts of those who made their way beyond the horizon before my own return. And as each one plans his or her escape, I find myself volunteering to go with that person. My heart is looking for that escape, that adventure, the thrill of departure. Vegas, San Francisco, Italy, India, heck, even LA, and I’m sucked into a mental withdrawal of sorts.

I don’t like commitment these days, after living such a carefree life. But much of life requires just that: inescapable commitment. I don’t remember ever fearing such attachments before, but lately the idea of escapism can truly overwhelm me.

I came back to Orlando for a very specific reason, to be with very specific people, and to fulfill very specific purposes. I am incredibly happy to see old friends and be loved and love people back and rejoin a community that I love dearly, which loves me in return. But there are minutes, hours, and even whole days that it feels like a constant sacrifice, a consistent selflessness, a reoccurring focus onto God’s purpose for my life at this specific point in time. It’s not the time that I spend with people - that is the easy, beautiful, blessed part - but instead the surroundings, and sometimes, the American way.

"Turn from ourselves, look beyond/There is so much more than this.”

These lyrics from Tear Down the Walls reverberated throughout the car, throughout my head as I reminded myself to focus on anyone else. Selflessness usually results in a better understanding of the world, and sometimes even yourself.

I want to be here. I want to want to love commitment. I want to wholly give my heart and my mind to my current life, my PRESENT. I pray for that desire frequently.

But often, running away seems far simpler.

I am convinced that it is a curse of too many options.

Eph 1:11-12:
It’s in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.

2009-08-10T21:41:00.001-04:00

I woke up this morning and I had 3 emails that each contained a little slice of heaven. I laughed over comments on pictures and according to Mel, it was like we took happy pills. I wish every one of you woke up on Monday as happy as I did today.

I arrived back in the States roughly 10 days ago, and there are times that I’ve had difficulty adjusting. Those difficulties tend to revolve around the extremely opposite mindsets of Australia and America. I’ve grown to cherish the Aussie mindset, so mind you, being back in this rushing, busy, competitive society has effectively rattled my mind.

But I find that these frustrations and limitations have taken a backseat to the utter pleasure I have found in the people for which I returned to this city. Some of those people left this city during my absence, and others left long before my departure. I haven’t seen everyone that I want to see by any means yet, but I have absolutely been lavished with the brilliance of my friends’ company.

And so, life is good.

Here are a few things I’ve learned or remembered about the States or myself or random things in the past 10 days:

Everything is bigger in the States. Everyone says it, everyone laughs at it, but it’s true. Macca’s small in Australia is the size of a kiddie drink in America and the large is equivalent to the States Medium. There is no such thing as a 32 oz drink in Australia - it might as well be labeled a bucket.
American internet is freaking fast! And unlimited!
We waste a ton of condiments. Only Macca’s gives you free ketchup in Australia, and even then it’s like trying to pry a steak from a Pitt Bull’s mouth to get more than 2.
America has the best shopping, hands down. Cheap, trendy clothing or high quality expensive clothing. Options, options, options! I struggle with hating infinite options in many categories (see: career path), but too many stores is not one of them.
Walmart, Target, and Payless are actually CHEAP.
$2.50 movie theatres exist. And they are the bomb! Even normal movies, at $10, seem cheap.
Zoolander is my favorite Ben Stiller movie.
People respond positively to politeness laden with happiness and laced with genuine interest in what they have to say. Obviously. I love it. This is true in America AND Australia.
Leslie can go an entire day at work without turning left. She is not always an ambi-turner.
Random calls from Hillsong on a phone number I got 24 hours before (meaning that they had to work to get my digits) make my day!
Jet lag from Fiji is horrific. I think I finally adjusted in the last 3 days or so. Maybe part of it is not getting enough sleep in general. Heh.
Nashville is in the central time zone. If you tell your Nashville friends that you are leaving at 9:30am, they assume central time, even if you meant eastern. And none of you think about it until you’re 70 miles south of Chattanooga and they are 200 miles north.
Going through boxes you packed 4 months ago is a bit like Christmas. Old clothes become new!
Shiatsu massage by Sonny is the best. Better than Swedish or Deep Tissue. For reals.
DO NOT drive down the left side of a street. And if you do, in the middle of downtown Orlando on a Friday night, be certain that your best friend is NOT following you. Else you might both get a ticket/die. And remind Mel frequently that Orange Ave is a one way street heading south. Thank God for frantically waving pedestrians who care.
Top Gun rocks.
Gary owns Gigli. Wait, I think he sold it. Point is, he paid for it.
Pizza + Red Wine + Kate’s Porch + Awesome people = best Sunday night back in America yet.
God’s wisdom is something mysterious that goes deep into the interior of his purposes. You won’t find it lying around on the surface. 1Cor2:7
If you’re away from Status for 5 months, you won’t recognize people before the service. It’s because everyone you know knows that nobody shows up early. Right on time, or late. We should change this!
Chickfila is just as good, just as tasty, and just as unhealthy as I remembered. My arch nemesis.
Myers Briggs and superhero talk are bound to resurface at least once on Kate’s porch.
Apparently, I never get to survive a movie on my own. This is crap. “I’m not jealous.”
The Lodge has an 80s night. And nobody but us dances. Apparently, I am a fake-80s fan.
The Greek Corner is delish. Now, they just need hummus.
Vintage sales by Kate + Dana + Jamie + etc. I don’t even need to add an adjective to this sentence; it stands alone.
I’m on the search for a quality cappy in the States. So far, no good. Starbucks and Seattle’s best taste a bit burnt. Who knows of a good mom & pop coffee shop?

Mel’s dad told me, the day that we flew back into Orlando, that these blogs are kind of like Seinfeld - writing about things that are utterly pointless to everyone not involved. The sad thing is that his tone indicated that it was no where as entertaining as Seinfeld.

Things I learnt my last week in Sydney...

2009-07-19T09:38:00.001-04:00

- Having a car would have changed my entire interaction with this city. We rented one for our last 4 days and didn't stay home at all this weekend. Even if the weather is rough, a car makes it easier to tolerate.

- Bondi Beach, particularly the Sunday Market, is a great place for fashionable men. "Goodbye, Bondi, You've been sexy."

- Saying the previous quote out loud results in Sydney, your ex-lover, strutting half-dressed men with surfboards past your window. No lie.

- A God Encounter, as defined by Brian Houston, is a collision with the Unexpected. Yes, indeed.

- If you shun Sydney, in an attempt to return to your roots, it will lavish you with a final glorious weekend of beautiful sunshine, warm temperatures, fantastic worship/messages, and natural beauty - both surroundings and mankind. "I feel like Sydney is trying to seduce me."

- If I were a character from The Idiot, I would be Aglaya. A stubborn and haughty young woman who loves both carefully and carelessly at the same time. She deeply loves the beautifully good Myshkin, but fails to conquer her own insecurities.

- The Northern Head of the Sydney Harbour, in Manly Beach, is a great date/make out spot. I do not know this from experience :) The Southern Head, in Watson's Bay, is more beautiful. And, according to Mel, possibly the final shot in Mission Impossible 2.

- My left hand is far less 'simple' than I made it out to be. Ellie calls her dominant hand her 'clever' hand, so I labeled my left hand my 'simpleton' hand. He's rebelled by straining my left thumb. I now realize how much I need my left hand.

- Aussies are my favorite, culturally. They understand how to live life to the fullest, they are very relaxed and un-stressed about life as a whole, they understand what it is to be unselfish in community (at least those I know), they embrace markets to the fullest, and they have the most fantastic beach culture I've witnessed.

- The Sartorialist continues to be my favorite blog/photographer. His photos inspire me to move to another foreign country, preferably Italy or Brazil. Maybe France... maybe.

- Hugh Jackman (sometimes accidentally referred to as Hugh Jackson when my mind is on another) was, apparently, just a phase. I hate it when Walter is right.

- Bruce, the vegetarian shark from Finding Nemo, sounds suspiciously like Brian Houston from Hillsong. I've never noticed the Shark say "Good on ya, Mate!" until now, when I know what it means!

- Valkyrie came very close to succeeding. I wonder what the world would be like if it did?

- Getting to the IMAX 45 minutes before Harry Potter does not make a difference. Next time, show up at midnight.

- Fiji has a ton of islands. Trying to find a rad place to stay in Fiji is difficult.

- Hillsong has previously considered 3 cities for its American Campus: Miami, LA, and Orlando. I'm voting for Orlando. And then, I'd like to figure out how to steal Brooke Fraser, Joel Houston and Jad Smiley-Guy.

- Romans 11 in the Message reveals a whole different side to the word envy. "Now, they're wondering what they walked out on!"

- Depression and Loneliness are a plague in our world.

- Mel is better at blow-drying my bangs than I am.

- Paddy's Market - the cheap souvenir place - is almost identical to Tokyo. Or what I think Tokyo would be like, given that they have the population of America on a tiny island.

- Tim Tam Slams are far better with tea instead of hot chocolate. And the dark chocolate Tim Tams are the best. Tim Tam Slam Seduction is what they should call them.

- It costs $20 to get to the Hills Hillsong Campus from the city. And it was worth every dollar tonight.

- Master Chef is Australia's new craze. It sucks you in, even if you only watch the final 40 minutes of the season finale.

- Tear Down the Walls does not have a DVD recording. I looked everywhere.

- MJ is pretty sure that Hillsong hired stylists at some point between their older DVDs and their newer ones. "Joel, put the flannel down. Back away from the flannel."

- If you ever unintentionally lose a bet, so that now you have to buy your best friend dinner, arrange said dinner in Fiji, where the food is imported and clearly not all its cracked up to be.

- When something MJ has been talking about comes up in the church message of the week (or day), don't be surprised. Just laugh and appreciate the Confirmation.

- Blockbuster at Rockdale Plaza has more stolen DVDs than anyone. Don't start watching a series unless you check with the cashier to make sure all DVDs are accounted for. And then do a double check yourself.

- The concept of living presently (and thankfully) is a pivotal lesson to understand. I get depressed when I think that every moment that I have cherished - in which I have had a wonderful conversation with someone, in which I have laughed until I cried, in which I have wondered if my reality was real life - is now in the past and unaccessible to my physical self. I suppose this is why I have thousands of photos.

- The version of "Your Name High" on A_CROSS// The_EARTH is a lot more fun. They either yell "What!" or "Hiya!" in the chorus. And we got lucky enough to hear it tonight! "What!"

- Sydney does not have any radio stations that are static-y enough to please the iTrip. Finicky thing.

- Sometimes a question is not a question, but a statement to get you to listen. To hear with your spirit, maybe.

- MJ is going to annoy everyone with the way we say a word, and then repeat that word in an Aussie accent. "Shark." "SHAHK!" "Arden." "AHDEN!"

- All the Aussies I've been attracted to wear horrible 80's sunglasses. I suppose I can get past that, though.

- India is a fascinating place, as portrayed by Shantaram.

- There is no way to live a city you love without having your heart break. Even if you've already booked a ticket to come back in a year.

If you have made it this far, I applaud you! This stuff is very funny and interesting to me, but it's my life :)

Mini Purple Sharpies

2009-07-16T05:03:00.001-04:00

In the invisible, swirling spirits and realities surround my deeply oblivious body. But here on the streets of Sydney, all that is visible lies in front of me, clamouring for the attention of my senses. I stride away from Paddy’s Market in my red double breasted jacket, my peacock-eyed scarf, my tall black boots, and my ever-necessary black sunnies. Oh sunnies of mine, you keep the world from staring into my soul. Most days I applaud you for this highly dangerous task, but every so often, I want to rip you off of my face and stare into the eyes of Medusa herself. I’m not afraid of her reported powers.

Alas, today is a day of hiding, and I’m clapping on the inside. Loudly, vibrantly.

As Central station looms on my visible horizon, I begin to notice people around me. This part of town - Chinatown - actually feels more similar to Japan, specifically Tokyo. Or at least what I expect Tokyo to be. The crowd is pulsating, humming, pushing, pulling in all directions. It’s chaos, disorder to the highest degree. There is no emergence, no pattern to the comings and goings of those caught up in the tangle, the web of humanity. The multitudes continue to throb, surging towards their daily supplies. I do my best to shake off the American who lives at my core, who thrives in large personal space and quiet. Oh, she’s screeching rebelliously against such close quarters.

But soon enough, I walk away from Chinatown, leaving its bustle to its own citizens, and I enter the semi-quiet, easygoing, Australian Central Station. Mel is a few steps ahead of me, soon falling a few steps behind, doing her own tango with the Aussies and foreigners who traipse amongst the trains that are quickly arriving and departing. I lose sight of her quite a few times, mostly due to my distraction with the people around me. I see a lady pull 3 coins from her pocket, totaling $4, and I imagine that she’s traveling back to Bondi Junction, maybe to buy that pair of heeled boots that she’s been admiring for quite some time. It’s gonna take more than $4, or at least that’s what I read as I intently stare into her face. I stroll past two backpackers who are standing at the entry stalls of the intercity trains, debating which track their train is departing from. The pony-tailed guy is pointing at the roughly sketched train-maps sprawled above the stalls, and both are ignorant of how they are annoying other passengers trying to inch by.

I carefully step onto the down escalator, ever nervous about missing the step and rolling down 50+ escalator-stairs. As I walk through Central station, I imagine myself in that movie scene (there are so many) where the protagonist in the bright red coat is stopped in the midst of a busy place, people flowing around her. It is one of those elapsed-time scenes that are intended to imply how busy life is, how rarely we stop to think, and how alone we can feel. Sometimes, I think they also use these scenes to show how someone is waiting for something that never comes.

And so all of those story-morals probably apply to me today as I slowly stroll through Central, listening to my iBuds with my ears and listening to the people with my eyes. I see a guy my age hiding behind his sunnies, and I swear he’s staring at me. I’m glad he’s got them on, because I don’t want to know his soul right now. I have pieces of souls floating within my own soul, and I already feel quite overwhelmed by those (oh yes, in a good way.) Maybe another time, another place, Mr. Sunnies.

I sit on the ledge of the escalator - 8 minutes until the Sutherland train, going to Rockdale, arrives. In the meantime, I change my song and lose myself in thoughts. 7 minutes later - an early train! - I climb aboard the train and sit across from Mel. I pull my reporter’s memo pad from my purse (which is now far too heavy with today’s purchases) and begin to write in purple ink. I love this Sharpie, this mini-purple Sharpie. Some days I wish I was a purple or maroon mini-Sharpie. I wouldn’t feel less superior to the bigger sharpies - I could go where no Sharpie has gone before as a mini! The click-Sharpies, though, are an entirely different story. But I suppose we all need something to keep our pride in check, hey?

I’ve had thoughts in my head that I wanted to transcribe to paper the entire walk to the train, but what instead comes out of nowhere is Russian Literature. I ask myself this question: Of the three Russian novels that I’ve read (Anna Karenina, The Idiot, and Crime and Punishment), to whom do I relate to the most? Who would I be, if I were cast as one of those characters based on my own character? I find myself furiously writing about who I am not, and when I surface for air, I am staring absentmindedly out the train window at the concrete, trees, people, and air passing me by.

I’m suddenly thinking of how I feel like I’m in one of those foreign films... the protagonist is staring out the window, considering her writing - its vulnerability, its imperfections. I even hear a voice-over (in French or Italian, of course) in my head echoing my thoughts. I smile at my silliness and wish my life were a movie, or at least a reality show.

I head back to my question and my notepad. I’ve often thought that the Russians are rather extreme in their characters who are burdened by self-loathing, who are bent on self-destruction. What I realized in writing down how I relate to the Russian characters is that the only reason I am not lost in these ideas is Christ.

I love Jesus.

And upon realizing this, I cut those characters a bit more slack. I lament, in writing, momentarily how I am not as gracious, naive, caring, or honest as Prince Myshkin (aka the Idiot). And then, I realize I am a combination of Kostya (Anna Karenina) and Aglaya (The Idiot).

And I’m happy by this revelation, although I want to be more like other characters. It also makes me excited to read Brothers Karamazov when I finish Shantaram, to see if I relate to any of those characters.

God, please make me more like Myshkin. I want to see the good in people. I suppose the correct thing to say would be please make me more like Christ.

And so, I disembark the train, happily alone amongst 50 or so people.

Oh introvert, how I’ve missed you so. And dearest Sydney, I have convinced my heart that I will leave you with no regret - I will not regret our sudden departure. I hope deeply, incessantly, that our paths will cross again, that my children will know you on an intimate level. You are so beautiful, most notably in your citizens. But in the next 4 days, I will love you like you’ve never been loved before.

I am a passionate and sincere lover, dear Sydney. Be prepared to be left longing for me. Oh, be prepared.

the Invisible Hand painted the walls

2009-07-13T23:05:00.001-04:00

in the eternity existing before time began, an expert Craftsman set to work about his creation. we've all read the stories of such Creation; some believe the stories, but many have cast a cynical eye towards the 'fairy tale' and have since moved on to science, knowledge involving material and 'proof'.

but have no fear, you believer, because regardless of their unbelief, this Creationist exists.

His World was torn asunder in the moment of independence; hearts were shattered, spirits divided.

and so, this Creationist, an professional Artisan, began His artwork once again, lamenting this necessary task. an expert in combining vivid colors with muted hues, he began to blend them into realities and perceptions of various sorts. once the colors were perfected, the Invisible Hand swept His fingers through the wet paint and began to stain this newly autonomous world with the multitude of pigments.

a wall was created.

and He wept.

the one World then became divided between their world, a suffocating impersonation of freedom, and His World, now invisible to those locked inside their own self-sufficiency.

division was evident for a very long time. the people inside the world would, now and then, have vague visions of the World which the paint guarded. dreams of Utopia, unexplainable longings, unquenchable fires deep within their hearts.

there was talk of reconciliation, but those within repeatedly stumbled into the wall. furthermore, they were often entranced by their reflections within this wall, looking only towards themselves, never beyond themselves to the World past the reflection. they did not and could not know how much more awaited them, for their selfishness prevented them from seeing.

reunion came in the form of a Man - and at once, the painted bricks of the wall became invisible.

but you see, the people inside were rather accustomed to staring at the painted partition, and so they were physically unable to see through to the Outside World. their hearts had grown hard, their eyes dim.

He sent his Love into the reunited World, calling the spirits He so lovingly formed back to him, desperately trying to change their hearts, to open their eyes.

He longed to have his creation return to Him.

that Love, it worked hard upon one heart in particular, one spirit that was seeking to find Him, despite its ignorance to its own search.

that hard heart soon cracked open under such a great Love, revealing a fleshy, love-inspired heart. those eyes, they shone brightly. this man walked, puzzled, to the invisible brick wall he had never before been aware of, seeing only the outlines of the old painted bricks. he carefully pulled down the first paint brick, and a trickle of light flowed forth into the eyes of the others. he looked back to their faces, to see if they saw what he could now see upon the other side of this confusing barrier. their eyes peered and strained, but they still saw not. the man pulled down another brick, set upon tearing down the entire wall! more and more blocks came down by the power of this man's hands, His love, and His strength; the light grew to an blinding glow, and more and more people began to see past him into the other world.

the Glory of the Light flooded their faces, their world, and their hearts.

the lost came out of hiding.

the land, the trees, the grass, the flowers, and the animals belonging to the rebels began to groan loudly, in anticipation of the voluntary, complete destruction of the wall by those who had once refused Him.

words, songs, noises - they poured forth as Enlightenment and Reconciliation were completed.

worship.

we will return to You.

Your name is Glorious.
====
I have fallen in love with the song Tear Down the Walls, by Hillsong United. The song is powerful in its lyrics, beautiful in its unusual structure, and of course, crescendos loudly before it falls grandly.

This writing is inspired by this beautiful song.

Learning

2009-07-10T20:07:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night, at Hillsong Conference, I heard Joel Osteen speak. Joel tends to have this stigma about him (particularly in my States circles) involving ideas of prosperity gospel and unrealistic optimism. Until recently, I had a cynical eye towards him, towards his preaching, though I had never truly gathered much of his message or his written words. While I listened to him speak on Wednesday night, I became aware of the reality of the hardness of my own heart. While I can't profess to believe or agree with everything that Joel believes, there is Truth pouring out of Joel that is valid, uplifting, and most importantly HOPEFUL. He spoke of being healers in a painful world on Wednesday night, and his words resounded within my heart. It was a confirmation of a great lesson that I have learned at Hillsong as a result of a moving and powerful God: Faith + Hope + Love are REAL. They are not words we say, but they are actions we take.

I often find myself shaking off the cliches that Christians throw at you when you are struggling with something: God works everything together for good; God will bring you through this storm, etc. I came to a profound, yet obvious, revelation yesterday - it has nothing to do with the words, but everything to do with the person who is speaking them and the person who is receiving them. When a person is not coming from a sincere, genuine, faith and love-driven place, and they utter those words, my spirit senses the falsity and doesn't receive the Truth within. But if a person is sitting beside me while I sob, comforting me with such Truths, from a place where they deeply believe what is being said - it is a supernatural comfort from God alone. In saying this, I also have been confronted with my own attitude towards those words: regardless of whether the person uttering them is deeply entrenched in the moment and the Truth, I should be receiving the TRUTH in those words!

God has used Hillsong to teach me many things about His faithfulness, among many other important Truths. The church's faith and hope in God blows me away every time I step through their doors. They are renown worldwide for their fantastic worship - well deserved, in my opinion - but what is slower to catch up is the optimism, the hope, the faith, the beauty that pours forth from their souls. I'm coming out of a mindset that I consider realism (oh yes, I've had this conversation with too many of you and we never agree on semantics!): a world shaded by cynicism and doubt, which I mask as 'reality'.

As an aside, please don't be offended by my words against a realist - I am referring to my own experiences/perceptions and yours may be entirely different, even if you label yourself with the same mindset.

The divine revelation that has slowly been unveiled for me while attending Hillsong is that the mindset I've previously had is like slapping God in the face. He's given me every reason to have Hope, to Believe, to have Faith. He's GIVEN me Faith, I just have to receive it. By no means do I argue that true doubts and frustrations and uncertainties should not be wrestled to the ground with God as you figure them out - he doesn't want your false beliefs or words! But I am far too often a doubter in God's Truth, without truly attempting to understand or relate. I may proclaim His word, but I don't always mean the words flowing from my mouth. I'm learning Who God is and how to begin to truly believe the Word that He has given me. Not to skim over it and read it through the lens of my 28 years spent in the church, but to really READ them. To try to understand what the Word implies - on a grander scale - visible and not. To have faith in the cliches, and unwrap them from that horrible label of cliche.

I must here interject a moment about motivation. When I first came to Hillsong, I wrestled with this idea: If this congregation is so hopeful in circumstances, so filled with faith when it comes to the temporal, won't they struggle significantly with disappointment when their prayers for healing, for jobs, etc are not answered in the way they wish? I watched members talk about non-healed illnesses, deaths, and other prayers that weren't answered in the way they had hoped, and I subconsciously noticed that their faith in God wasn't shaken, wasn't torn down by a loss. What I came to realize through two conversations is that the reason that their faith wasn't shredded was because when they prayed for these things, they weren't basing their hope in God on his answer. They weren't basing their belief in who He is based on whether or not their needs were met as they desired.

A friend referred to the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego: they said, God will show up and save us. But if not, we'll believe anyway.

Simple, this revelation - so obvious, so profound. A typical Paradox.

The reality is that mankind is not good on its own. But the Hope effectively bleeds through that horror as Christ resides in us as a church. That is a reason to become an idealist (use whatever word you like, if you disagree with what an idealist is), to shed cynicism and meaningless words and arguments, to embrace both emotion, intellect and spirituality simultaneously, and to trust the God who you serve, who loves you deeply.

It is my deepest, sincerest prayer that my mindset continues to grow from this experience despite being miles upon miles away from the location that I found it, away from the people with whom it's rather easy to embrace such a mindset. I pray for a marked change in my spirit, in how I give to others, in how I encourage others.

It's a slow process, so forgive me for my negativity in the meantime.

I just want to love you better.

Things I have learnt* this past week

2009-06-29T05:57:00.004-04:00

*First, a shout out to my Aussie english. Learnt!

1. The best way to make sweet tea is to make syrup with hot water + sugar first, then add it to the tea. This helpful tip came from Sonny.

2. Headstands are a lot harder than they look and they require strong abdominals.

3. God is faithful, even when I don't have faith. This is encouraging.

4. The correct order is: Heaven is eternal, Jesus Christ's Character/The Word are internalized, and circumstances are external. To reverse the order is to skew the perception of Christ through temporal circumstances. I've simplified a really great message from Joel @ Hillsong.

5. 4 person air hockey on a 2 person air hockey table is a lot of fun. Defense is the best offense.

6. Tourists in Sydney tend to go to Circular Quay (Where the Harbour & Opera House are located) every day. It's only fair to admit we did the same.

7. The best koalas in Sydney, and possibly Australia, are at the Reptile Park in the Central Coast. They, so far, are the only ones who have been awake.

8. Jelly Bellys now come with words on them, like those chalky hearts at Valentine's Day. Way better for sending secret messages online.

9. The State of Origin is a Rugby game. I still don't understand what the difference is between Rugby and Aussie Football, when it comes to rules, but I can tell them apart visually.

10. Sending picture postcards is a great way to brighten people's days.

11. My brother has a strong southern accent. He's on the verge of being a hick, even. It's cute.

12. Christian Korkor knows the best places to go in the Central Coast. He and Giovanni are experts at good coffee.

13. The best market in Sydney is Killibarra Market in Milson's Point, just north of the bridge. Awesome second hand clothing, can be found cheap! Bondi also has a pretty rad jewelry and used clothing section on Sundays.

14. Hillsong Worship can't be matched. I dare you to walk away unchanged.

15. Australian ovens are a bit different than American ones. Only they can burn the top of blondies while leaving the bottom raw. Even so, the Blondies were pretty dang good, after I remediated the rawness. Save yourself time and just eat the batter.

16. Strawberry Hill by Bronze Radio Return is a great song: my favorite of the week. Drew Harris has really good taste - or at least knows what I'll like.

17. Memory (RAM) and storage are NOT the same thing. My computer is now faster, but has no more storage than it did last week. On the positive side, I did install my own RAM. Props!

18. Driving a stick-shift with your left hand, in a car which you sit on the right side, on the left side of the road, is not quite as complicated as I once thought. It did certainly take adjustment, and I'm far from being able to do it entirely without thinking, but I'm closer than ever!

19. GPS does not work well in downtown Sydney. Or so the Europcar people tell me.

20. Galatians in the Message repeatedly works on breaking my stony heart.

21. Familiarity is a tricky, tricky thing to tackle. I liken it to the magicians in The Illusion and The Prestige (my Jackie!)

22. Whales are migrating some direction past the Sydney coast right now. Are they going north for the winter, or south?

23. MelissaJeanne is not the #1 MJ right now.

24. Sydney is really big when you don't have a car.

25. Hugh Jackman occasionally comes to Hillsong, City Campus. He was last seen on Mother's Day, and Mel Kirby's Mom's friend hung out with him at the urinals. A kid from Powerhouse (the 18-25 crowd) looks after him. I know, I already told you. But I did learn that this week :)

26. Johnny Depp is yet again scoring a unique role as the Mad Hatter in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland.

27. Aussies can shorten any word, and even abbreviations. Christian shortened KFC to how it sounds: "Kiffs." It's one of my favorite things about this country, next to the laid-back mindset, the welcoming community, and the surfers.

28. If you're going to video blog a Hillsong that's not yet released in the middle of a church service, hide the camera beneath your jacket and just catch the sounds.

29. Jesus needs a twitter. I imagine this would ruin the need for faith. Maybe in heaven, after faith is realized. I bet he would have the cutest things to say on his updates. Witty Jesus.

30. Your heart has an endless capacity to love, if you will just stop thinking about yourself. Go ahead, try it.

31. Cheap books in Australia are not really cheap.

32. Re-telling Walter's stories to my mom (and/or MJW creations) is not nearly as funny as if he were telling them. But she still laughs.

33. #32 is because I'm her favorite, by the way.

34. Chinese Saunas are awkward. (Okay, that was more than a week ago, but worth mentioning again, in case you ever find yourself invited to one.

and, finally:

35. Our generation has far too many options, and it's killing our identities. Sometimes you have to make important life decisions and make it a point to not allow regret (ever) regarding the option you choose. Life is usually not provided with a guide map. Blaze your own trails, find contentment in your circumstances, and if you're unhappy, change your circumstances or your attitude. In the meantime, be thankful for everything you have, for you take it for granted every day.

Okay, I thought of a 36 that was too good not to post. #35 is far more important, but this one is just funny...

36. Walking through King's Cross at 7:30am can result in a random, decent-looking guy (accompanied by a girl) to hunch over, throw his hands up in front you and your best friend, and then laugh and ask "what?! no high fives?". Your best bet is then to laugh heartily and high-five him. And then tell your mom the story of how MJW created a social experiment involving the words "Follow Me" after you bump into someone.

2009-06-23T21:01:00.001-04:00

I've read this before, but it sits and sits and sits with me today.

Galatians 5:19-26, The Message

19-21It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on.

This isn't the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God's kingdom.

22-23But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

23-24Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.

25-26Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original.

Water-Prismatic-Illusion

2009-06-21T22:17:00.000-04:00

Monday morning. Less than 24 hours until my mom sets foot on Australian soil, and I am heading out for a run.

I pull on my black track pants, white Hanes t-shirt, navy blue hoodie (which is getting smaller and smaller due to the wash) and my nikes. My nikes used to be neon green and white, but since our combined 19 Kilometer hikes in the Outback, they are now tinted slightly orange. I bid Mel goodbye, as she gets ready to catch the CBD train to the city and head outside.

A quick glance at the clay pavers outside shows that it's been raining this morning and it's fairly cloudy now. I throw up a quick prayer that it won't rain while I'm out, and hit the pavement.

All eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus.

Britney's silly lyrics ring in my ears as I set my pace to one of my favorite tunes by her. She's not bad to run to, I think. I run down Garnet towards Bay Street, which then heads to the beach. I suppose it would be more accurate to describe Brighton-le-Sands as a bay.

Why does love always feel like a battlefield, a battlefield/You better go an get your armour.

I mentally thank Drew for sending me this recommendation, as it's another great song to run to. I don't love Jordin Sparks, but it's pretty decent. I run past the bus stop and there are about 10 people gathered, waiting to hitch a ride into the city. Yesterday was technically the first day of winter in Australia, and thankfully, the days are getting longer now! These people are dressed appropriately for Sydney's winter: layers, layers and more layers. A run under an umbrella that an elderly lady is holding in my way, as the sidewalk is far too narrow to run around her. She smiles at me and I smile back.

Right as I near the 'downtown' of Brighton-le-Sands, where the cafes, boutiques, and coffee shops start, it starts sprinkling. I dodge in and out of the raindrops beneath the covered sidewalk and the streets, and I start calculating my route in my head. I'm not sure how far I want to run in the rain. Sprinkles aren't bad, but Sydney is quite schizo in it's weather, so one can never be sure whether sprinkles will turn into a downpour. I'm already quite hot in my hoodie, so I decide to run until it gets unbearable. I'm only at the first mile of three, anyway. It's a mile back home, so I might as well run a bit farther.

I wait at the longest light ever, where Bay Street meets General Holmes Drive. This is one street I haven't figured out how to jay walk yet, since the lights and arrows go at all kinds of crazy times. I rest from my run as the sprinkles continue. Finally, the light changes and I run to the boardwalk, which runs parallel to the bay.

Just dance, gonna be okay...

As I run away from the city, Lady Gaga is ringing in my ears. As appropriate, this song always makes me want to dance. The rain is very slight now, and the sun is coming out. I run along the morning traffic and I notice half of a rainbow over the sand just in front of me. Suddenly, I am chasing this rainbow. I want to run beneath it! I then notice that it is a complete rainbow, passing from the sand, over the road, and beyond to an area I cannot see. I run and I run and I run, but it's always just out of reach. I thank God for Him, for the rainbow, for His love. The rainbow puts me in an even better mood than I'm already in, which is hard to conceive.

At my 1.5 mile marker, I surrender to my humanity and give up on running beneath the rainbow. I am still curious about what that water-prismatic-illusion looks like from directly beneath, but I could be pursuing this rainbow for many kilometers.

If I could bottle up the sea breeze/I would take it over to your house/And pour it loose through your garden.

I desperately wish it was the summer.

I turn back, running down the asphalt path for bikers and runners, seeing nobody along the way. It is rather enjoyable to run alone this morning, though part of me does miss Mel. There is something about being solo which makes you appreciate your surroundings much more. There are no waves to crash upon the shore, so the sounds are purely man-made this morning. I finally pass three guys who are heading into work, running between them as they obstruct the running path entirely. I smile at them, happy with life.

"I want to get away/I want to fly away/Yeah, yeah."

I run down the ramp to the beach, gearing up for the hardest part of the run. I laugh aloud at the song playing, as a plane is taking off from the airport just across the bay. I love irony, I love coincidence like this. I run after the plane, challenged by its speed. My mind envisions an explosion of the plane, the horror of seeing it, being thrown back onto the sand by the sight, the sound and the reality of it. It's even more repulsive since my mom is currently flying towards me in Australia. I am grateful that this morbid vision is only in my head, but I wonder why I imagine such odd things.

The city looms in front of me, about 20 kilometers away, hazy in the early morning rainshine. I am careful to avoid the green John Deere tractor that is combing the beach, and I head to the part just by the water. I hurdle over the net, which I assume is either for jellyfish or sharks, thrust forward by my magnificent and powerful legs.

I realize about halfway down the beach that the non-combed area is packed down due to the rain, so I run up the beach a few meters to the softer sand. What is the point of running on the beach if you aren't using your core to stabilize? The tractor has gone back to it's post now, as the driver has completed his rounds. I give it a final effort and then find myself standing on the far edge of the boardwalk. I rest for a minute, watching the beach workers storing the tractor and preparing for the rest of the cleanup.

I don't wanna be a maybe, Baby let me drive you crazy, I wanna be your dandelion

The sun is coming out more fully and I stand watching the runway at Kingsford Smith Airport. I am entranced by the landing and the take-offs of the many planes. There is a Qantas 747 on the runway, and I keep hoping to see it take off. The smaller jets commence take off far sooner than the large ones, and I want to see the 747 make it just to the end of the runway before pulling up its wheels and turning on its thrusters. Exhilaration.

But alas, it's not meant to be. It's apparently, even after 5 minutes, still 2nd in line for take off, pushed even farther back by the incoming planes. And so, I wave adieu to the 747, wishing its travelers a safe journey.

I run back through Brighton-le-Sands, which is less busy now that rush hour is a bit farther behind us. I weave in and out of the elderly people who wander through downtown, purchasing a bit of fruit, a newspaper, or coffee. I look longingly at the only convenience store to house A&W root beer in Sydney, but keep running because my money is at home.

Yesterday I had a dream I could fly through the sky/Then I woke up in a sweat, not dead yet but on the ground/I'm up in Johnson City Tennessee/Looking for the wind in me/Lord fly me over Pontchartrain/Back to the land of sugar cane and summer rain.

As I wait at yet another light (how these lights slow down my run!), listening to my favorite song from my favorite movie (Love Song for Bobby Long), I watch two kids in a double-decker stroller across the busy road. Their grandfather (I assume) is decked out in a yellow Nike shirt and black track pants, looking as impatient as I at these slow, slow crossing signals. The boy in front is actually the only one I can see, but I think there's a little girl in the back. He looks to be 2 or 3, decked out in a red gap shirt, blue jeans, with an army green truck on his lap. I think that his parents must have been to the States, as there is certainly no Gap store in Australia. I watch as he babbles on to his inattentive grandfather about the truck that is speeding by in front of him. The green man FINALLY flashes across from me, and I start my run back up again, passing them on the way over. I momentarily wonder how grandpa plans to get the kids in their non-boat stroller over the river of water that I just hurdled, but I don't look back to find out.

Someone tell me how I feel/Its silly wrong but vivid right/Oh, kiss me like a the final meal/Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight.

I am THRILLED that my current favorite song by Elbow has randomly popped up in my shuffle at the end of my run. I pass Garnet street, and turn left down Aboukir, extremely happy to notice that there are simply no more clouds in the sky to rain down upon us in Sydney. A blue sky on the second official day of winter: I can't complain. This has been a great run.

As Elbow notes, farther along in the song, "Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day."

Indeed.

2009-06-10T03:04:00.003-04:00

It's Wednesday night in the Southern Hemisphere, and it's cold here in Sydney. The cold doesn't sit well with me. Why should it? I haven't truly endured it in at least 5 years, at least not to any long-term degree. The lack of heating systems in this country is something to which I am trying to adapt. I love my new country and I live within the Aussie way of doing things, but adaptation is often a challenge.

My mind keeps tripping back to days that are recent, but seem so far away. On an entirely different continent, I shared parts of my life with you. The threads of our lives wove in and around each other, away from each other, tangling into other threads as well. God only knows how tangled up we got in our own web.

I moved on, I moved away, and you were sad. I was, too, but I had adventures waiting to distract me from your infrequent calls. Really, I just didn't want to think about you anymore. But I did. The thoughts, they came and they went, like waves against a distant shore. I blocked them with any damming material I could find, but the tsunamis continually found their way to my new home along the Southern Coast. In the dark of night, lying beside my sleeping (sometimes snoring) roommates, I'd allow them to crash into me, to overcome me, to drown me. I, the guard of my emotional prisoners, would only allow them into the jail yard for exercise in such darkness. Some of them would sit along the fenced in yard to watch the magnificence of the powerful ocean rolling in under the moonlit skies. They longed for such relation, but understood the helplessness of their own reality.

Time passed by even more quickly than the cities. I celebrated another birthday, another year in a foreign country and somehow felt like I was home. It was a beautiful time spent traveling, despite the exhaustion that resulted. We bid adieu to our triplet and sent him packing, on his way back to the motherland. I was jealous.

The more I talk to you, to best friends at home, the more I realize I voluntarily left a world that I adored (though far too often took for granted.) And when I left, though I was not the ruling monarch of this nation, the world ceased to exist. It died away as if the sun supernovaed, disintegrating the oxygen in our atmosphere.

And the glue which tightly held our friend group together dissolved instantly, leaving a separation that I doubt to be beneficial.

And so it goes, as Vonnegut proclaimed.

Dreams.

2009-05-31T18:33:00.001-04:00

I had a dream last night. One thing that Mel knows about me is that I very frequently wake up from an entire night of restful sleep, remembering absolutely no dreams. Lately, it seems as though I've been waking in the middle of them, thereby helping me to remember them better.

My dream last night involved a dream within a dream (DWID). In the DWID, Mel and I had returned to Orlando shortly after Walt, and I think we were at a welcome back party. In the dream, at the party, and in the following scenes, I was internally ill at ease with being back home. I knew in my heart that I should have stayed in Australia for the time being, and I was struggling to be in Orlando. I couldn't afford to come back to Australia, so I was having a difficult time even being present.

I don't often feel that my dreams have significant meaning, but there are times that they have a spiritual aura, such as this one. Mel and I have already been in the mindset of wanting to live here in Sydney, trying to find housing, jobs, etc, but this dream solidified my desires and confirmed our decision.

For the time being, Sydney is my home. :)

Savvy

2009-05-22T02:47:00.000-04:00

You may have been right,
Smart, to preserve your detachment
To recoil from unveiling your mystery,
(that tantalizing reveal)
To anticipate improper intimacy

Had you dared,
I would have stolen the stars you trustingly gave me
And ran far, far into the blackened night;
I would have raped your fertile mind to serve my own purposes
Leaving naught but a salted field in my wake

You may have been right,
Savvy, to impose silence upon my incessant inquiries
Recognizing the curious olive eyes, their true intentions
Shying from the implicit danger
Reading betrayal between the lines of flowery persuasion.

Had you risen to my challenge,
I would have branded your soft skin,
Emblazoned my mark, my claim upon it;
I would have ravaged your spirit
Leaving naught but a bleak, bereft soul in my rearview

For I am a vigilant vixen,
Scanning the horizons for favorable conditions
An ornery opportunist,
Searching for advantageous information
Your subconscious has saved you.

Nostalgia

2009-05-21T03:45:00.001-04:00

I miss the days of semi-private blogging.

2009-05-12T11:30:00.002-04:00

The thoughts, they come, they race, they stop momentarily in my head.
I turn up "Closer" louder, until my iBuds are throbbing within my ears.
The reverberating sounds soothe my strangled heart, my mangled mind.

Both are rather overworked.

Most of the time, music at full volume chases away any demons,
Even yours
But sometimes, even the most poetic lyrics with the funkiest tracks aren't the right medicine.

Like Tonight.

The War between the States

2009-05-06T08:22:00.002-04:00

I am currently in the midst of a book published in 2007, by Donald McCaig, called Rhett Butler's People (RBP). I am reading this as a follow up to Gone with the Wind - which I finished last month. I also watched the award-winning movie produced in '39, and I LOVED it.

This latest book is written from Rhett Butler's perspective: it has flashbacks as far back as Rhett as a 9 year old (12 years before the War between the States) and I believe carries on beyond the end of GWTW. The book was authorized by the estate of Margaret Mitchell, as the estate had reportedly been searching for an author to complete such a project.

I'm in the beginning of this book, but there are a few things I've been thinking over since I started it.

First of all, there is a rather startling difference between GWTW and RBP, which becomes apparent in the first few pages of this book. I've often commented that GWTW can be rather misleading, as it shows a kind slave owner and his family, along with slaves who feel to be part of the family. While I am certain that this likely existed in parts of the deep South, I was disconcerted at the lack of balance Mitchell displayed (or didn’t) in regard to slave treatment. As previously noted, this was not necessarily the point of the book - to debate the morality of slavery - but the lack of objectiveness caught my attention.

However, RBP, surprisingly, comes from the opposite end of the spectrum. Rhett's father, a rice plantation owner outside of Charleston, is a vicious man, who treats his slaves as property, and punishes them accordingly. The reader is introduced to Will, an incredibly hard-working, efficient, and honorable slave (second in command at Broughton), who is shortly whipped to death for throwing a white man (who was intending to rape his wife) out of his home.

Even the white man's father, who was the overseer of the planation, disagreed with Mr. Butler's decree; however, Mr. Butler stood by his decision to reinforce the idea of authority.

Reading through the Antebellum section of this novel, I am barraged by different historical occurrences preceding the War between the States. I find that I'm intrigued by all of these different happenings - whether national or local, political or social, etc. I've been doing some research in regard to this war and its happenings (we were taught this information at far too young of an age, and likely by biased teachers - regardless of their origins).

I began to consider the North and their side of the war. In no way do I support slavery and its ideas, its lack of morals, its complete disregard for humanity. I was raised within the Southern perspective, which I tried to balance out with my sense of cynicism towards the older people of the Deep South. I find myself surprised, in one aspect, that the North was so insistent upon keeping the nation together. Surely, there were economical, political, and social reasons for the unity of the North and the South - I cannot deny this reality. However, a mere 90 years before this War was an even more famous one: The Revolutionary War.

The children and grandchildren of those who fought for our freedom from Britain were now refusing to let a part of a nation choose its own destiny, its own freedom, its own methods of operating.

I find irony in that, despite the fact that the AR addressed colonialism and the CW addressed the division of a new country. I'm certain that a good historian could cite 100+ significant, worthwhile reasons that the North fought to keep the South within their nation, but the irony is irrefutable.

I am also fascinated by the differences in perspective between the North and the South in regard to the secession. I was interested to read that during Andrew Jackson's presidency, South Carolina threatened secession (those South Carolinians are always leading the revolt!) over tariffs. Andrew Jackson's response was a threat to send Federal Troops to quell this riot and to: "hang the leader of the secessionists from the highest tree in South Carolina." Even more bizarre was the response of Calhoun, who was Jackson's vice president: he fully supported the secession and resigned upon the threats from Jackson. (I feel it worth mentioning that SC also threatened to secede over California's statehood.)

And so, the Union saw the South and its secession as a mere rebellion, incited by numerous traitors within their own country. Lincoln himself gave the south 20 days to 'disperse and retire peacefully' to their homes, on April 15, 1861.

But the South, as continually evidenced by my grandparent's generation, believed that they had successfully seceded, becoming a new nation with the other 10 (debatable, the actual number, as 2 of the 13 attempts were never approved by state governments) seceded states.

History is written by the winners, as they say, and so you will always find it told that the South attempted secession, but never able to consummate it by winning the war.

A final note regarding secession: There was a US Supreme Court ruling in 1869 in which the Court determined the Constitution did not permit states to secede, that the ordinances of secession were absolutely null. The Chief Justice was a former Cabinet member of Lincoln's, and obviously the South felt that he was partial and unfair in his decision. Wikipedia notes that the decision was extremely controversial, remaining so to this day.

A few more interesting facts from Wiki to conclude your history lesson in the fascinating War between the States:

On April 1, 2009, the Georgia State Senate passed a resolution 43-1 which affirmed the right of States to nullify Federal laws. The resolution also included the assertion that if Congress took certain steps, including restricting firearms or ammunition, the United States government would cease to exist.

In April 2009, Rick Perry, the Governor of Texas, raised the issue of secession during a speech at a Tea Party Protest: "Texas is a unique place. When we came into the union in 1845, one of the issues was that we would be able to leave if we decided to do that...My hope is that America and Washington in particular pays attention. We've got a great union. There's absolutely no reason to dissolve it. But if Washington continues to thumb their nose at the American people, who knows what may come of that."After Perry's comments received considerable attention and news coverage, Rasmussen Reports polled Texans and found that 31% of them believed that Texas has the right to secede from the United States, although only 18% would support secession.

In March 2008, the comptroller of Suffolk Co, New York once again proposed for Long Island to secede from New York State citing the fact that Long Island gives more in taxes to the state than it receives back in aid.

There have also been proposals for New York City to separate itself from New York State citing the vast political and economic differences between the two.

In Florida, there have been calls in the past and present to separate the state into north (a more southern culture) and south (a more northern culture).

2009-05-05T20:28:00.001-04:00

Those four days, which started off innocently enough, seemed to last forever. I tell you, I HATED that place.

Day one: drive, eat, drink, conversations of bases (and far more ridiculous topics), ice cream, drive, hostel, guitar, oppression and sleep. Days two through four were far simpler: reading and oppression (though endured through a complex state of mind.)

Not that I realized it at the time, mind you. And, reader, you might even doubt the reality of what I will explain, yet it exists despite your potential cynicism. Separate views of the same world: mine, holistic. Will yours blend with mine, or do you instead wrap yourself in the mere physical?

It seems that all oppressions are grounded in partial reality, slight as it might appear. And for that reason, I insist that this is not entirely the fault of those daemons. There are, in fact, real matters to be dealt with on my part, and those lessons will be learned, and relearned, in due time.

However, when that truth is twisted, warped, by the imps who chase and tempt us hourly, suffocation ensues. I began to believe and internalize (as I’m certain you’ve done before) these exaggerated, revised versions of my true reality (but what is true reality?)

Thus began my journey, my travels, down the dark road that lie before me. I never saw the enlightened path just to my right, as I wasn’t searching for it. Not until day four.

If you asked me on day three (oh, you say you did?) why I sat listless, quiet, absent-mindedly absorbed in the minute glades of grass between my toes, I would have only stared at you.

Was it the heart of the matter? Was it the confusion, the blackness? Was it simply a day to be?

If I had to testify before the Judge, I would cite all three as sources of my silence, my distance.

I’m still at university, you see, learning through osmosis, studying the lessons of the beliefs to which I adhere, doing my best to experience, to become, these absolute realities. As an ex-disciple of selfishness, gluttony, worldliness, and egoism, I have travelled far from my homeland. And yet, I am still a great distance from the rest area which promises sweet relief.

Today, as we drove farther and farther from that scarred battleground, the rains lightened and the clouds lifted (oh, I assure you, this is quite the literal sentence) and I became reacquainted with both my subdued, battered soul and my risen Lord.

I followed Him with weary footsteps, trusting that He would play the soundtrack of His grace over my life (this song plays incessantly on repeat, until I lose that cd again).

That I might remember who I am, who He is. And what we are to become.

2009-04-24T11:01:00.002-04:00

I sit here, hunched over this patio table and high above the street below, watching the happenings below with a halfhearted interest. It’s 12:21am on Friday night (technically, Saturday morning) in Cairns, Queensland, Australia, and my heart is restless.

A few people online try to distract me from my brief bout with introspection from thousands of miles away.

As I sit, staring vacantly down towards the pavement, I see 5 drunken kids swaggering towards the opposite side of the street, heading home into the dark, cool night. I catch myself thinking that I hope they know which way to look as they walk into traffic.

I’m alone on this balcony and I like it. There are people yelling, there is music blaring, and MW is less than 10 feet away from me, inside our hotel room.
 Somehow, miraculously, I have managed to escape into my own cocoon, amongst this madness.

I wonder at our world - what does it all mean?

I have strong beliefs as to why I am here, what my purpose is, and the overarching ideas of my spirituality, but as I stare humanity in the face this early Saturday morning, I wonder what it is that I even see.

I’m tired of relationships; I’m tired of trying to read into situations and events. I am exhausted from analysis; I wish for nothing more but straightforward people with love in their hearts.

I wish I was that type of person. While I'm wishing, I wish that I could just BE. And not think so damn much.

I’d be lying if I said that relationships were not work for me, for they utterly exhaust me. (Yes, yes, they exhaust you, too!) I fatigue myself with incessant considerations that are irrelevant and unimportant. And then, somehow, I manage to halfway offend a friend by not being observant about behaviours surrounding me.

Where is my balance? My scale?

There are days that I think I could live here forever, and nights that I wish nothing more than to be at home. But where is my home? I am nothing more than a vagabond, blowing around as leaves in the wind.

I thank you in advance for assuring me that my home is Orlando, or Atlanta, or wherever my heart is, but the reality is that I feel

homeless.

A friend of mine once told me that he never really felt at home in Orlando, in the multiple years he has resided there. I never knew what he meant until now.

Except, he’s considerably more lucky, because he has a place that he remembers as home.

My memory is far to faint to recall anything of the sort.

I long for it, I really do.

Some day, I do believe I shall find it again. For now, though, I shall kiss Hope and Love on the cheek and consider myself blessed to be in Australia in my current situation. My heart continues to wail out its song, calling for that home that no longer exists. This song will recreate, redraw, repaint over the coming months or years; and I will then rediscover my safe haven and my peace.

But tonight, I sit, perched in my quiet nest, thinking about tomorrow.

2009-04-24T09:18:00.002-04:00

i once read a line on a page that said, 'i know everything.'

and so i thought. and i thought.

everything? to know everything! what a blessing. and what a curse. to be burdened by the mundane knowledge of the average life of a fly during a nuclear winter, or the number of times the light in downtown cairns blinks per hour: overwhelming. but maybe worth the trade off to be aware of your nemesis' strongest power or greatest weakness? to hold the secret of the event horizon, the big bang, within your brain, to be able to explain the idea to the most brilliant minds of our times as if they are children?

ah, maybe.

and then i realized the one who wrote it wasn't considering the literal statement made.

eureka.

and then i smiled.

because i knew that the author was only fooling himself; for even all of the facts of all of the events and the happenings

could
never
contain
everything.

The Fade Away

2009-04-22T23:29:00.000-04:00

Ebbing and flowing
But ebbing more readily
Further and further back
 Away from these dangerous shores
These cliffs made of age old rock
These crashing waves that force you inward

You and I
We embrace each other
We fool each other
We fight each other
And we give in

But both of us hold back

You say you give,
But you really don’t.

I don’t either.

We are both far too protective of our exoskeletons

And so we ebb

And ebb.

Swept away by a storm (My alternate title)

2009-04-12T04:12:00.003-04:00

When I was mentally planning my trip to Australia, one of my top priorities was reading.

I love to read. I find that since I've become very involved in the Status community, my reading somewhat decreased due that increase in my social life. Therefore, I made a vow to myself to read unceasingly on this trip, when time was plentiful and books many.

I've failed. Miserably. I find that spare time is spent online (when available) or chatting with M, W, or both. A bonus is that some of that time has been followed up with discipline in my Spirituality. But I have only completed 1 book since I left the States (for those of you who care, it was Angels & Demons, which I was re-reading before the movie came out.)

Despite all of this, I recently picked up the 1000+ page book, Gone with the Wind, which I lovingly stole from my mom when I was in Georgia this winter. My mom is an English teacher who has thousands of books, so it would be years (or never) before she realized it was gone. I must add that any time I read a book she owns (that she has found time to read), I learn much from it due to her markings, scribblings, and highlighting. Enlightenment.

I'm about 1/3 of the way through this book. Disclaimer: for those of you who haven't read it and want to read it, you might not want to continue. I have many thoughts on it which might give away plot points.

I've just arrived at the point in the book where Scarlett has arrived back home at Tara, following her departure from Atlanta, which was under attack by the Yankees. She has only just been told that her mother is dead and that Tara was spared, but desolated, by the Yankee army.

This book fascinates me, while depressing me thoroughly.

I grew up in the Atlanta area - the deep South. I understand the Southern sense of pride, their attitude towards the war in general, their attitude towards the North in general, etc. Particularly the older generations, of which my grandparents were part.

I suppose that I should feel more appalled at the situation that the South found itself in; however, this novel is not designed to question the morality of slavery.

Well, at least not by page 400, which is where I'm at.

I have been wrecked by the significant, massive separation of my world and the world of the late 19th century, the Civil War world.

First, the South was ablaze with tradition, politeness, and what many would call ignorance. They wouldn't tell women truths much of the time, for fear that women couldn't (physically, mentally) handle the truth. Women were not allowed to show their bosom before 3 pm. Women in mourning were not allowed to go to parties, or to dance, or to see other men, for many years after the death of their husband. It was shameful for a woman to talk about being pregnant with a man other than her husband.

These traditions seem ludicrous in this liberal world in which we live. White Lies? Separation and Hierarchy? And yet, there is so much history in these ideas. Misguided, ignorant, maybe, but history and reality nonetheless.

Second, I am astounded at the South's pride. Mind you, I've told you that I grew up amongst people who were very prideful of their heritage. Georgia's state flag has incorporated, and still proudly displays, the Confederate Flag. But the sense that the author would write "One confederate soldier is worth 12 Yankees!" is outrageous. They were confident without much reason, as far as I can see. I will never forget my grandmother telling me that her great grandmother believed the war would quickly be over, with a Southern victory easily at hand.

This very reason is that I adore Rhett Butler's entrance into the era before the War began. His character isn't concerned with what society thinks of him, but instead is set upon wreaking havoc (polite havoc?) amongst these haughty and intolerant, yet beautiful and family-oriented Southerners. Rhett loves Scarlett because he sees a bit of his rebellious nature in her, and he works endlessly to bring these qualities from the confines of her subconscious into the reality of her culture.

And yet, I must interject here that the personalities and the characters - feeling as though I'm their friend, or at least an associate - their ideas, their misguided notions, their methods of thinking - they all give me a more sympathetic and understanding insight into this world which I was once so quick to logically write off.

Thirdly, I am incredibly frustrated by the senseless death that this war brought about. The conditions of a 19th century war are so far removed from modern wars. The same can be said even for WWII, but the vast difference in the methods of strategy is blatantly evident. I must confess that I am a bit ignorant myself about the real reasons that the North was adamant about keeping the South as part of this nation - I do intend to do follow up research on this very topic. However, both sides appear to have been so very quick to jump into a battle, to believe in their own rights, their own superiority. And this stupidity on both parts frustrates me.

I believe the largest American death toll of any war is the Civil War - some 600,000+. While in one sense, this is logical (being that we were fighting both sides of the war), in another it's completely ridiculous. The statement of brothers fighting brothers and neighbors fighting neighbors is 100% grounded in reality.

That is shocking and disturbing.

There are many other things that strike me about the war, the environment, etc just from reading this book; these are the main ideas at this time. I continue to be depressed as I read about this young girl's journey before, through and after the war. It's a heavy topic, a real topic that can't be waved away by the mere idea of fiction.

I should also reference the book The Unvanquished, by Faulkner. I read this book at my mom's this past holiday season and was absolutely fascinated Civil War fiction. (It spawned my interest in GWTW.) Again, the idea that the literal ending of the war was not known by the public, particularly the remote regions of the South, for the longest time (due to differences in technology) blew my mind. I think I even blogged about it on this blog before.

I highly recommend reading GWTW if you haven't. And if you know of any literature that is similar, but written from the Union's perspective, PLEASE recommend. I am so curious to read something from that mindset, from those ideals, from that culture from the same period.

Cheers!

Parallel Universe

2009-04-05T06:45:00.000-04:00

Climbing, Climbing
Higher, higher
The boundless ocean below, an orchestra,
Crescendoing against the sands of the beach below

Fortissimo!

I hear the winds howling
Blowing powerfully thorough the trees deeply rooted behind me
In awe of Your might
Mouth gaping at displays of Your power

I smile inwardly at my smallness
My cockiness, my egocentric view of the world
I know You are changing this
I laugh, often, at my jokes

So rooted in my reality.

The music plays on
As I hear with my eyes
And see with my ears
As I taste with my nose
And smell with my mouth

Everything is different

But You remain the same

Everything is foreign

But I find stability in You, Written for me to believe

An ounce of Faith,
Granted so mercifully
Growing incessantly
Clarifying internally

All that I am

All that You ask me to be

I fall
I fall again
I fail
I fail again
Frustration abounds.

Self-reliance is intoxicating.

She wrote, then sang:
Even the high and mighty ones learn to slide.

I’m sliding, tripping, falling;
Hands reaching,
Grasping, grabbing for anything to hold me upright,
To pull me back to my higher stance

And I fall to the sandy beach below
Broken in body
Torn in half
But entirely whole in Spirit

I lay with the sea lapping at my feet
Unaware of the frostbite encroaching
My focus, and fear, drawn only to Your presence beside me
Inside me.

Awestruck and Dumbfounded

I ask no questions
I need no answers

You are more than enough.

Islands Away

2009-04-03T02:30:00.000-04:00

She floats atop the turbulent sapphire sea, eyes scanning the horizon, subconsciously searching for something, for someone.

Her search is continual, an incessant journey across the perilous waters, passing the expansive seven mile beach, steering clear of the jagged rocks and red clay cliffs which lead inland.

She occasionally sees fellow travelers along the horizon, floating along on their own little piece of earth.

She frequently floats up next to these vagabonds, upon the enormous sea of life.

One of these welcomes her over with waving arms, a toothy smile, and a hearty hug. She hops upon this stranger’s turf, unaware of the influence she exudes. She sits alongside her new friend, listening to the exciting tales of her past and watches the hopeful lines this friend casts out toward the future.

She is slow to offer herself, but always quick to lend an ear, or advice.

Finding common ground within the strong words her new friend offers, she enthusiastically engages in conversation. Her face is animated by the various stares her enormous eyes emit, and her new friend is encouraged to give more and more.

After enough time, she leaves her new friend, and both of them exclaim their delight at the new friendship, and their hope in the fates allowing future meetings.

So she is back to this beautiful water which has forever been her home. She ponders this latest relationship that she was part of for a brief time, and considers her feelings towards the introduction, the experience, the potential for growth.

Oh, how she values her time alone with Him as her own island swims along beneath her.

And shortly, there is yet another who is watching her from his own side of the ocean. He sits behind his fence, eyes peering over the top, wondering at her expression and her approach.

She doesn’t let the fence deter her - in fact, it might even be what spurs her towards the hidden man. Or boy? She’s not sure until she attempts to step onto his land.

“Why are you here?” He asks gruffly.

She turns on her charm, greeting him with the eyes he can’t stop staring into. “You were floating by and I thought I’d introduce myself to you, to share a bit of my food with you. Are you hungry?”

And so, he doesn’t open the gate, but he puts his hand through the narrow slit, hand open for her peace offering. She sits along the far side of this fence, directly in front of him, and waits for him to speak. She chews slowly on the Bread that has always been her lifeline, pondering his questioning stare.

She asks him a question.

She asks him another question.

And another.

Fairly soon, the gate has slightly opened, but she doesn’t go inside just yet. While the open gate is significant, she still continues to attack this one’s attitude - the mental obstruction. Her charm and wit fight hand in hand against any guard that he could put out.

Before she knows it, she’s in the gate.

There’s a wall that separates this front yard from the deeper parts of this small island, but she doesn’t concern herself with it at all. She is where she wants to be - where she needs to be.

The conversation carries on rapidly, until it comes back around to her. She adeptly parries the heavy fire of questioning, without allowing this new intimacy to circle back around to her. Her tactic of keeping her new friend focused on his own story has been successful so many times before that she is caught completely unaware when her mind connects with what her mouth now utters.
 And she wonders how in the hell she got here.

On this stranger’s land - so close to home, but not home - how did she end up revealing so much?

Surprisingly, she doesn’t desire to run, to paddle away, to escape like she has before.

For the rest of her time in this foreign land, she is completely within her own mind, analyzing feelings and logic, while externally appearing to be focused only on the conversation at hand.

When she leaves later, the fence is in shambles, but the wall stands strong behind the man.

And her own piece of life never felt so welcoming.

2009-03-20T06:23:00.001-04:00

Day after day, the girl pasted pieces of her heart into the brown paper journal. She loved the time she spent with her heart and her journal, baring it all to the lined pages. She played with the rubber cement she applied, pulling off fingerprint after fingerprint. She smoothed down the edges of the bits of her tender heart she placed so gingerly onto the severed trees.

Every now and then, she’d go back and look at the parts of her soul strewn across the pages, smiling at a past thought, frowning at a past demon. All in all, you were written within the pages of this journal and that’s what made her happy.

Something was amiss today, as she came down for breakfast and sat sullenly at the table. The book she always had by her side (as if her imaginary friend was trapped within) was not there. She answered none of our questions; she parried our interrogations rather well with her silence.

And later in the day, as the sky grew pink with its snowy potential, we sat on the front porch smoking cigars and talking in hushed voices as to not disturb her. She sat in the corner of the yard with her once-treasured papers, weeping over the heartache contained within her human heart. The pages apparently no longer meant anything to her.

I nudged my neighbor and we watched her set the journal afire with a single match. The wind whispered loudly, nearly extinguishing the match, but Fate was intertwined with my little girl that day as the inner pages suddenly caught fire and burned quickly. She sobbed and sobbed at her heart blowing away as ashes on the cold breeze. The thicker paper cover was slower to light and still remained when all of the insides had burned into the atmosphere.

She spoke words of wisdom to us (far beyond her years) as she brushed by with only the cover left: “This paper shell is all that remains of my heart; the insides are nothing but ash.”

She dropped it at our feet and sulked inside to sleep again.

It would be years before my angel drew near to the One who could restore her heart.

2009-03-19T06:17:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, the words just don't come out.

There are emotions and frustrations brewing within. There is a storm of epic proportions - one that can lift a 252 ton (that's 500,000 pounds) rock from the bottom of the ocean to the edge of the shoreline cliffs - that is causing a deadly rise and fall within.

Isolation and lack of comfortability consistently bring issues to the surface I had either long forgotten or never known.

So I sit, my cursor blinking, trying to compose my thoughts into coherent poetry to express this storm. But the storm will not be described. It will not be quelled by an outpouring of wind or rain. The storm refuses to weaken by such understanding, but instead will smirk and strengthen by repeatedly regurgitating the emotion(s) on which it feeds.

I think about him, multiple hims.
I think about me.
I think about the patterns, the compositions of my relationships.
I think about identity.
I think about God.

I wonder how He is capable of explaining my world in more clear terms (or probably less clear, knowing Jesus).
I wonder how I can change behaviours, even if only mental.
I wonder how relationships form and how they are destroyed.
I wonder how I relate to people.
I wonder at being isolated, forever.

To say I feel anguish would be inaccurate; it is far more similar to confusion, to reaching into a murky ocean and wondering what might be swimming amongst the coral or sand along the bottom.

Who Am I, and Why do I feel this way?

Psalm 102

2009-03-14T11:20:00.003-04:00

The Lord looked down from his sanctuary on high, from heaven he viewed the earth/to hear the groans of the prisoners and release those condemned to death...

I am reading Psalm 102 this morning & this catches my attention.

I spent Wednesday afternoon touring Alcatraz, the infamous prison in the San Francisco Bay. We took a boat over to the island, disembarked, and were instructed a bit in the history of this island. It was many things, including a military compound, before it became a prison. After after it was closed down by the city of SF because it was too expensive to run, Native Americans came in and took over the land. They were soon kicked out, and the island was taken under the city or state's national park program.

The rock was a prison for roughly 30 years, which is far shorter than I had realized. We toured everything from the warden's house to the social hall to the cell blocks to the recreation areas. The cell blocks were the most haunting. Al Capone was housed in Cell Block D, which was for the worst of these misled souls. There were cells in this block that were a decent size, but they weren't allowed out at all, unlike the other cell blocks. And then, there was solitary. Confinement without light for days on end.

Walter has written, or at least spoken to me, of the way that the prisoners were so isolated from society. If the wind blew just right, they might be lucky/unlucky enough to hear trailing sounds from the shore. It seems like these sounds would be both wonderful - connecting them to something from which they came, which they could remember - and horrible - reminding them of their extreme isolation.

This recent venture is why this verse from Psalm 102 called out to me as I was reading through it.

Our cries from the rock - the earth - are haunting, desperate, loud, frequent, and frustrated. God heard those cries and came after us, saving us from our own isolation. Our souls heard the soft, stealthy music coming from the other dimension in which we truly belong, and we consider ourselves lucky and unlucky to hear them. For they make us long for our true destiny, for our true nature and for our true God. But they also remind us how we have fallen and are not yet able to get to that other dimension.

Longing. Beauty and Hope in isolation. This is the difference between Alcatraz and Christianity. There was very little, if any, hope in Alcatraz. Even an escape to the exterior of the prison, which was near impossible, meant you were faced with about a mile swim in shark infested waters. If you were lucky. And if you weren't - and you were caught - you were punished with a ball and chain upon your return. Good luck swimming with that, the guards would say, smirking.

This has all been said before; I think that the reason I wanted to write about it was simply a better understanding of the desperation and separation of the Rock as compared to the Savior of Humanity.

Nobody hears the cries from the Rock.
The creator of the Universe hears the cries from this rock.

Meaningless humanity made ever important through Christ.

Paradox.

2009-03-14T01:26:00.002-04:00

Life, lately, is a seemingly endless array of minutes, hours and days. I find that without a job, or school, or church, to keep me aligned with what day of the week it is, it's near impossible to remember. Every morning, I wake up and ask Mel or Wally what day it is. I find that they often take a few minutes to try to recall themselves.

It seems that thus far, our flights have kept us semi-grounded in the day of the week, when we ARE able to remember. We know we leave for San Fran on Wednesday. We also leave for LA on Saturday (tomorrow) and for Fiji/Sydney on Monday, very late at night.

But what happens when our last real connection to a day disappears, following Wednesday (our connection to Sydney from Fiji)?

Walt told me today of a camp he attended where the attendees were required to give up their watches. They could tell approximate times from the sun, sure, but real connections with the exact time were lost. Only the counselors and/or coordinators of this camp were privy to such information.

I begin to wonder, as I continue to feel lost in my days, what relevance this has to the picture of life. Does it matter whether today is Monday, or Thursday? I have no real commitments once we leave the states, so what relevance do time and dates have for me, really? Do I need to keep a calendar with me, marking off my passing life, or is it more reasonable to simply be instead?

Do days matter?

I'm guessing that once LOST in Australia catches up with where we are (I think it's about 3-4 weeks behind), we will organize our weeks by Wednesdays.

It's very bizarre to feel so unaware of something that recently held such significance for my life.

And on we go...

Blackjack at the Hard Rock

2009-03-10T12:57:00.002-04:00

Today we are in Las Vegas. We arrived here again last night from the Grand Canyon around 7pm. We checked into the Hard Rock hotel, which is just off the strip, and hung out in the gigantic room for a while, trying to recover from the 5 hour drive.

I needed alone time last night, so Mel and Walter went off on their own. I went downstairs to play Blackjack. What I love about blackjack is that if you sit down at the right table, you can have a fantastic time with the other players. I love players who are excited and optimistic. They stand up, or sit down, and they ask for the cards they want. They do it like they are commanding an army, demanding pushups or something: "Come on Dealer! Give me that 4! You know I NEED that 4!" And sometimes the dealer gives them a 4, and sometimes the dealer gives them a 10, but they usually don't lose their optimism. These are my favorite types of people to play with, especially on a hot table. They dance around, yelling for blackjacks and tens like they are preaching on a Sunday morning, inflamed with excitement and obsession. These are the type of people who make you look across the casino at their table and consider leaving your own perch to join their fantasy world, where the house doesn't always win.

So, I sit at a table with 3 guys (I tend to gravitate to these tables, because often they know how to play BJ by 'the book', thereby increasing my own odds of winning. I sit at 'Third base', as they call it, which is the seat directly before the dealer. I also tend to gravitate to this seat or 'First base' (the first chair, always the first hand dealt). What's interesting is that the luck of Third Base is constantly changing as people sit and leave, where First Base is always the first hand dealt. So I sit by this guy, I forget his name, but I'll call him Timmy for kicks. I sit down by Timmy and immediately like him. "What's your name? I'm Timmy." "Jeanne" I reply, "How's this table doing tonight?" So we carry on the intro conversation that's so common at these places. He makes me laugh, even though he's more of a pessimist than an optimist. He's also one of those guys who consistently interacts with the dealer, calling her by name, tipping her, etc. One of the other guys at my table is quiet, so he doesn't talk much. The final guy is a German from Bavaria. This makes for an interesting time when the dealer changes and a Bosnian-American sits down to give us our cards. She talks A LOT more than the last dealer, giving the German a hard time, casting out her opinions on everything from discipline for her stepkids to German-Bosnian relations to how effed up (her words, not mine) America is, despite her adoration for it.

At first, the dealers are consistently taking my money. I'm winning a few hands, so I stick around, but I get down to about $25 out of my original $100 after about 45-60 minutes. But then our table gets a great shoe (8 decks, the place the cards are dealt from) and I go on a roll. A while later, I'm up about $75, and I leave the table as it cools off. I head to another table after wandering around the Hard Rock lobby a bit, and win another $25.

I find a $10 single deck BJ table (my favorite type of black jack) and stand behind it. There are 5 guys at the table, with 1 seat open. I ask one of the guys if I can sit and he nods his approval. I sit after the deck finishes. These guys are AWESOME. They are what I would label biker-rockers. They have long dark hair. One of them has on a cowboy hat - but it's a rocker cowboy hat, not a genuine one. The first thing the one to my left says as I sit down (because I don't look like your stereotypical BJ shark) is "You better know to hit a 16 against a 17." I smile grandly at him, because I adore his no bullshit introduction, and assure him that I know most of the rules, and I ask if I don't. There is an audible sigh of relief as I tell him that and we play the game. Despite the fact that I lose $87 in probably 15 minutes, which is most of my winnings, this is my favorite table of the night. They tell me their favorite parts of Australia (Brisbane being the best, apparently) and wish me goodbye as the dealer takes the last money I am willing to part with.

This is how I end my evening - walking to the cashier's cage with $113. I realize that many people see gambling as wrong (and it certainly can be addictive and destructive), but it's purely entertainment to me. I walked away $13 richer and several hours of enjoyment later, I am happy to head to bed.

Pride versus Magi

2009-03-03T00:13:00.002-05:00

My weary soul has traveled this road before

I stand at its start

Once again in awe at my re-arrival,

Convinced I took a different turn at the noted black rock this time

Apparently, more than one path returns this way.

I stand back, wary of wandering that way again

There are whispers on the wind;

There are deep voices calling, echoing my way

Even the wind seems to push me towards you

But I don’t know that I can return, retrace my steps another time

Pride

Oh she is the assertive & mighty one

Shrieking gleefully

As her hands pluck at my ego:

She is familiar with which chords wreck my soul

But I sing louder,

Louder than the tune she strums against my heart

And for a brief moment I have shut her down

Refusing to allow her presence,

Her reaction to affect my decision

The next maestro brings the orchestra into full volume

Crescendoing as I turn the benefits in my mind

The noise hardens my heart

And thus my heart throbs in time with the vocals of pride

(now resurfacing)

Demanding vengeance and retribution for your wrongs

Exhausted from the battle of the symphonies,

I take a seat along the edge of the path

Lying back on the green, green grass

Letting wisdom, freedom and forgiveness

Arise to their proper position of Magi

They convene and converse

They frown, then smile

They lean in closely, debating wildly

As I simply watch with a bemused smile

Finally, clapping their hands in glee

They will now distribute and confirm

Their position on this decision

(which I’ve known for some time)

Their optimism shining through any doubt

While their realism advises a secure distance is prudent

And together, the four of us stride towards the far, far end of the path:

Reconciliation.

Quite a long road

And we are all indeed aware of the potential of death before arrival.

Regardless, we confidently set off on that route,

Our futures tightly bound by

Hope.

2009-03-02T09:43:00.002-05:00

There is this push and pull with you that I can't wrap my mind around.

In previous times, I would have certainly tried to control it, manipulate it. Twist it, turn it; weave it, thread it.

Become it.

And while it exasperates me, the aura of confusion that you reside within, it also causes me to revel in my own transformation.

Freedom to allow you to choose how you want: I will not define this relationship. Even in regard to friendship. Does it really exist? I'm confident you are interested in the person that I am, but I believe you feel that way towards many friends in our community. The thoughts in my head collaborate and deliberate and come to agreement over convenience and distraction as your primary other motives.

This is acceptable, provided I understand your motives.

I chide the older, immature sections of Jeanne who want to force YOU to recognize your motives as well, but she's no longer in control. Your growth is not my responsibility.

What I have acknowledged, again (I had forgotten the 4 Jeannes have already had this conversation), is that I can't confuse the adept manner in which you entwine your words and actions of intimacy with the idea itself.

So I smile at our laughing snapshots and put them where I can remember the night, but they won't force their way into my heart the way the last smooth-talking, intimacy-tossing man did.

This me & You thing

2009-02-28T23:38:00.000-05:00

i relate to You best
in utter silence
creaking wooden floors
chuckling beneath my feet
air conditioning
cycling on and then off again
this is how i hear You,
amongst basic vibrations

in the social scene around me
the dust has quickly settled
revealing effort and character
supporting reality and depth
superficiality has checked out,
departed from this ghost town
leaving me a bit dirty, but joyous

and thus it all revolves around You

as it should

as it was always meant to

people sigh
i hear their voices laden with frustration
i watch their attitudes clashing
their perceptions battling
the hearts wanting to find level fields
pastures to lie in
meadows of simplicity
ease

they will get here

on the far side of these grassy expanses
i sit watching with field glasses
atop a short stout plateau
sitting back with You
Your words
Your peace
You

it's all that i need

and as i ponder You
we feel the vibrant silence
until the air conditioner kicks back on
until the neighbor's noise pollution reaches my ears

but i just smile

and relish this combination

this whole me and You thing.

Welcome back, Jeannie.

2009-02-24T16:52:00.003-05:00

I've had a day and a half back in Florida. Yesterday, I walked out of the chilly airport into the beautiful February weather that this state has to offer. After being in 30 degree temperatures for almost 3 weeks, to say I appreciated the day doesn't suffice. It was stunning, great for the soul.

I took Leslie to work today, and she let me borrow her jeep. I drove the mundane route home, but it was transformed into a beautiful scenic highway. It mattered not that I know Sand Lake and Kirkman like the back of my hand; it was irrelevant that I have traversed this trail many, many times. It was mind-blowing.

I spent the afternoon debating politics with Drew over Chickfila. It was an impromptu trip, based on his spontaneous phone call. It seems that he and I are consistently debating politics. He's a devout Obama supporter and we've never seen eye to eye on his support of our new Prez. Many times, he'll give me a statement he believes in, and I'll just debate with him for sheer sport. He knows this and loves it. But don't you feel sorry for him - he does the same to me, except he might be more adept at it. His comment to me as I left him at Kate's house was: I'll see you soon and we'll debate some more.

I told him it couldn't be about politics.

We'll talk CS Lewis or theology instead.

I drove back down I-4 in the ruby red jeep, weaving in and out of traffic, wishing that the top was down. Les and I verbally spar about the jeep top. She has refused to take it off for anything less majestic than a beach trip - which we haven't yet done in her jeep. I can't understand the point of having a jeep in Floridian spring unless you take the top off. I know she expects me to show up to pick her up this afternoon topless. The jeep, that is. Maybe on Friday!

Tonight, more time to spend with some of my favorite people in Orlando. We're going to Dandy's on Colonial. Tiff and I first met with Chris Slankard here when we were heading up our sphere, Disappointment with God. We wanted to hang with him and get to know him better. Somehow that has transformed into many early evenings over a Scattegories board... which in turn developed into debates over ridiculous answers (Something that is in the sky... Rocks. This is still an ongoing debate, trust me. He plans to write a book with this title someday: There ARE Rocks in the Sky. In fact, we've often discussed how many will believe it to be a truly groundbreaking statement, expecting a book on life and love and happiness. They will be either incredibly disappointed or infinitely entertained by its true content.)

So tonight, we cheers to one last Scattegories tournament. Walter, Carolina and Alecia plan to join, which will mix up the pre-existing regulars at our Scattegories table. I might add that I'm rather excited to add two logical ENTJs to the mix to balance out these wacky and creative types that are usually at odds with my black and white world.

Now for the rest of you that I haven't been lucky enough to see yet: let's get on it.

But a lot of the time, I don't have a car.

Orlando, I'm relishing your love, your people, and your sunshine.

How I ADORE you.

Things I Have Lost

2009-02-17T13:01:00.002-05:00

- My favorite ring, purchased from Seattle when I visited there this summer with my mom. The ring is nice and all, but what I truly lost is the memories aroused by said ring.
- My childhood innocence. It has turned into cynicism and doubt. The good news is that I'm softening up a bit - but I've a long road to travel.
- My 2 favorite cats ever: Bonnie and Clyde, later nicknamed Sissy and Pooh-Bear. We got them when I was 12 - they saw a divorce, 3 graduations, a Navy enrollment, an engagement breakup, the birth of a beautiful nephew, and so much more. I miss them forever.
- A fiance. Well, let's be honest - I know exactly where he is. But I lost the relationship and the intimacy of a long-term relationship. It was absolutely for the best, but I do miss the bonuses of a relationship like that.
- Most of my ability to converse in French. I remember words, improper conjugations, etc.
- My college photographs. I need to search the attic. Thanks to digital photography, storage of newer photographs is much easier.
- Self-consciousness. I have grown more comfortable with the woman I am, physically and personally. Like anyone, I am insecure. And I think of improvement all the time - praying for it, actually. But I do like who I am. ENTJ criticism and all.
- Memories of my childhood. This is by far my saddest loss. For some reason, I don't remember a good deal of growing up. I can remember stories, once mentioned, but I don't have the ability to quickly recall those times of happiness, sadness, anger, mundane-ness, etc. I wish I had journaled, like Mel.
- The worst Sorry game in the history of the world. Sorry is a child's game that is intended to destroy relationships. I am a bad sport. Add to the game a sister and nephew who hinder their ability to win in order to send me 'home' and you have a recipe for an explosion. I'm so embarrassed, in a funny way. Humility. This is something I need to GAIN.
- My ability to feel at home in solitude. I'm recovering this quickly, thanks to my trip to Georgia.
- My home. I am a vagabond right now - sleeping in random beds and on various couches until... I don't know when. It's strange to be so dependent on others, and the flexibility is a challenge.
- My grandfather. He is still alive, but he is in the early stages of dementia. He is too stubborn to have the proper surgery to lengthen his life, and so he continues to deteriorate. I have him to thank for my teasing tendencies. He was a great man, fallen as he was.
- My imagination and ability to be easily entertained. I spent yesterday morning with Kyla, a vivacious and wild (almost) 2 year old who I claim to be the godmother of. Jessie and Matt haven't acquiesced to my request yet :) She hid behind a fern, only to pop out after I asked the question, "Where is Kyla?" in a singsong voice. We must have done this 20 times and she never grew bored with it. I long for this part of childhood: the wonder, the awe, the magic.
- My interest in superficial relationships. Being apart from your community for several weeks gives you the blessing of knowing who your real friends are, and who you have time for, and who you care about, and who you relate to, etc. It's nice to see people once a week and say hello... but the true friendships are those I want to invest heavily in. The rest are a byproduct of a large community. It's truth, even if it's blunt.
- My love for Edward Cullen. I just write this for pure entertainment. There are things about fictional characters that draw me to them, whether male or female. I obsessed over Eddie C for a while - I admit - but he's not my role model for men. Robbie Pattinson is adorable. I have now, however, moved on to Hugh Jackman as the Drovah. A man's man. A woman's man. A man who lives the life he believes in even if he becomes an outcast as the result of his associations. DROVAH!

What have you lost?

L'amitie

2009-02-16T16:32:00.002-05:00

Friendship is often forged,

Fabricated as a result of like circumstances

Contrived from similar interests

Constructed due to the mere ease of it all.

Occasionally these effortless friendships

Outrun the duration of the likeness

But it seems that they often instead

Fall aside as conveniently as they arose.

And yet, the friendships that I crave

Are far beyond the circumstances,

Based rather in the true meeting of the souls involved:

Pure acceptance and love and truthfulness.

And as our worlds begin to revolve,

Orbit around different stars

The friendships adapt, evolve

The golden, shimmery strings of connection

Simultaneously loosen and tighten,

Allowing freedom while maintaining intimacy.

Your Absence Makes My Heart Grow Fonder

2009-02-15T08:05:00.004-05:00

Where are you? Inspiration that used to flourish, creative flower that used to radiate her fantastic words into my mind, fleeting pixie with endless energy - you have left, departed my soul, returned to your birthplace in that distant land.

I've searched every inch of my timeworn heart for you, but you left no trace of your past love for me. I have to be frank, to admit that I didn't notice your absence immediately. But they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder! Oh, how mine did and still does. I miss the soft mornings I spent with you, keys chattering like a five year old's teeth on a blustery, snowy morn. I miss the late nights, lying in bed, writing your words in my head. How I would snort in disgust at you for demanding I arise and capture your beauty just then! You always threatened me with forgetfulness. Instead, I wanted to pull the pillow over my head to drown out your alluring, captivating voice to catch a few z's.

Yet I now long for the darkened midnight that I can awake from a deepened sleep to find your tiny breath upon my face, caressing my thoughts and mind in your skillful manner.

Please come home. We can share?

2009-02-11T11:49:00.003-05:00

The door opens, the door closes

The revolving door spins, quickly.

People arrive, people depart

I, the watcher, merely observe.

So it was, until recently.

Now, I leave, unnoticeably

Striding through the twisting exit

Whispers of the past echoing.

Calls of the future bellowing.

Farewell, overwhelming clusters

Good morning, solitude and self.

2009-01-27T22:04:00.003-05:00

I used to know you. You were such a different person then. You've always been a cynic, but now it seems as if you've become their leader, instilling doubt and condescension in your ranking officers. These (mindless) leaders salute your persuasive speeches and carry them down to their armies, through patronizing yells and commands.

I've changed, too. I've lost my ability to care anymore and I've floundered in my attempts to think emotionally. I'm trying to seek forgiveness - it's something that actively hides from me. Every 3rd day or so I find it and relish it; but it's fleeting. That's okay, because at least I know to seek it.

This week threatens to be explosive. Let's hope that the 'yes' is a fraudulent one; that I can escape this state for now without an intersection of our paths.

To look into your apathetic eyes would only serve to fuel bitterness, and I've grown incredibly weary of being her landlord.

13 days and counting.

2009-01-20T08:40:00.002-05:00

I find myself witness to and partaking in many conversations about vulnerability and relationships lately. Definition. Clarity. Responsibilities. Owning up. Honesty and Truth. Love. Rejection. Frustration. Miscommunication.

I'm sometimes astounded at the lack of communication that takes place between friends, colleagues, lovers. Of course it's not natural to seek conflict, to cherish it, to revel in it. We must overcome our tendencies to dislike conflict and be open and honest about our emotions and our perceptions. Perception is reality, as some say, and to not be aware of the other's real view of the situation is a disadvantage. It causes one to look at a situation analytically and/or through the lens of their own bias, their own life experiences. The truth is white, but we all perceive it to be a random shade of an entirely different color.

Scientists say that memories are recreated each time we remember them. According to these, the less a memory is remembered, the more accurate the memory remains. Should I remember something 100 times in 20 years, it will surely be different in my memory than the past reality. One of the reasons for this is perception. When I was 7 (20 years ago), I did not apply my cynicism or my ability to abstractly reason or my hurt pride to the memory. I was innocent then, seeing things through a beautiful set of naive eyes. But 20 years later, as I think of the same memory, I remember differently because of my personal learning over this set of years.

And so it is with conflict.

There are times that conflict cannot be resolved, reconciled. And for that, we must abandon the situation entirely. By entirely, I mean forgiveness, of course. Letting go of bitterness and hurt and self pity and (righteous or not) anger. Until then, we are captives in our own prison (mind you, the chains and jail cells are imaginary.)

On to vulnerability and rejection. They seem to be a couple, both which terrify most people. Both, however, provide room for growth, for learning, for experience. Life is not about everything going our way. Life is about failure sometimes. Failure, in my logical opinion (though my emotions do not always agree), is success. You cannot learn of humility until you have failed. You cannot learn the way of freedom until your fear of failure has departed. You cannot learn to love yourself until failure is accomplished, experienced, and most importantly, accepted. Admired, even?

I am terrified, at times, to put feelings on the table. Part of me thinks it is not my responsibility, as it applies to a male/female relationship. Part of it is that I tend to go for the guys who are just as insecure and scared as I am to admit to vulnerability and allow for rejection.

Safe.

It's illogical, to consider these relationships safe, but when you consider the lack of responsibility: safe.

Now this does apply to me currently, but to be frank, the emotions/attractions are not quite legit enough to require a discussion. Coupled with the fact that I've got 13 days left in Orlando and I'm not desiring any sort of relationship while I am abroad, I do not have to face these demons just yet.

What I'm left fighting, instead, is my tendency to require so little from a man.

It's the bloodiest battlefield I've seen in some time, and to walk away only an amputee would be considered victory.

devilish smile

2009-01-18T23:36:00.002-05:00

if i close my eyes
will you disappear
if i turn up 'find me to forgive'
and hit repeat 1 on the iphone
can i drown out your voice

if i turn my back on your person
will i be able to ignore your reflection in the eyes that stare at me
if i distract myself with enough fun
can i act as if you don't exist

will i be able to forget
those words you easily mumbled in the darkness,
the drunkenness
(intoxication of many levels)
the moment
meaningless?

i have shut my eyes
i have deafened my ears
i have blocked you out
i have let you go

but your smile might sneak you back in

2009-01-18T08:33:00.004-05:00

Sometimes a girl needs a good kick in the ass. It's usually when she gets a silly idea stuck in her head, like a scratched record repeating the same line, and then begins to believe that those ideas are... intelligent? true? honorable?

"They're both unique and amazing and interesting in their own way, but what it really boils down (when you're interested/wanting to date someone) to is how they treat YOU. While both of them have their own set of pros and cons, how they treat you is unequivocally the most important deciding factor. Because this also reveals to me not only what they think about you, what you really think about yourself and what you actually want out of a relationship."

Really. If you don't have friends like this, you need to get them.

Eh.

2009-01-16T13:38:00.003-05:00

So there you are, and here I am. And there he was, and here I am. And there HE is, and here I am. Two down, defined, outlined, black and white. One to go. I'm not as thrilled about definition on this one. The second one: I did not feel the same. The third one: hmmm, maybe I did. But circumstances have kept my logic alive and my emotions in check.

You? Eh.

I spoke to her yesterday, of her own situations, and heard her say she didn't want the DTR. I didn't understand then, but upon reflection: I see her point.

Just get out of my head, if you please.

The Yellow Rose.

2009-01-14T09:16:00.002-05:00

Today, my yellow rose is dying, dead.

It reminds me of the friendship I imagine it to represent. Girls who know much more about flowers than I have told me that this is a friendship rose. I wondered for days who gave it to me, and asked several guys, who all denied this gift. The only person I haven't asked, who I assume gave it to me, took less effort to communicate with me than he did to leave the rose.

So the rose is dead, and the friendship is, too.

A rose is a rose and nothing more when it is not backed up by love. It is thoughtful and lovely and I enjoyed the excitement in my heart when I saw it... but a week later, it is mundane and ugly.

I shall toss it into the trash and think of it no more.

On a more positive note, I really do love flowers. Especially ones that represent love supported by action.

Leave that Pedestal for someone else to climb

2009-01-14T09:14:00.001-05:00

(I wrote this for a friend of mine, but I feel that pieces of it apply to all of my friends.)

There's this wonderful girl I know. She looks out from Egyptian-lined brown eyes at me, trying to fit her current standard of thinking around mine. We think quite differently and frequently force our ideas so strongly against each other that they splatter, like eggs hitting the floor. This splatter leaves just a bit of my idea in her and her idea in me. We're growing, you see, because of each other.

And so it blows my mind, as I stare back into her eyes, that she doesn't see what I see, what everyone sees. Granted, we are all victim of knowing ourselves best, and seeing ourselves more clearly than anyone but God. It's true that we, as a race of people, are harder on ourselves than others. But I get frustrated when I can't take this video of her that's in my head and transfer it into her thoughts.

She doesn't know that she lights up the room when she walks in, even if she's in a downtrodden state. She hasn't realized that people flock to her because of her compassionate and deeply loving soul. She hasn't successfully understood how her energy is contagious, her smile catching. She hasn't become her true self in fear that others won't like her (we are all so naive in this aspect.) BUT, the glimpses that we all get of her beauty ARE her true self. I hope that this beauty will one day present her true self to her subconscious... then seeing her soul in the truest, purest light. I wish and pray that she will crown herself princess of her body, so that the insecure demons inside her will have to submit to the True one. He has given her reign as princess through His grace and love.

One day... she will move past these tears of frustration and pain to understand that he's just a jerk parading around in a lover's suit. He's not a lover. He's not a friend. He's got his own problems, and he's not perfect. And that's okay. But it's not okay for him to keep up this charade of caring, of selflessness. He's not who he says he is (and to be fair, none of us exactly are), and I wish he'd just be man enough to leave her alone. But she, fair-hearted as she is, doesn't think she is strong enough for it. Short term gain for long term pain. I understand, for you see, I've been there before. Several times. But then there are those times you just have to immerse yourself in the heartache and melancholia so that it will depart from you when you become strong enough to cast it out. If you invite your enemy in for tea every day, he will slyly form that habit. Your strength will waiver and your heart will break (at least minutely) every time.

I love you, dearest, most beautiful friend. I love everything about you. I admire the steps you have taken to become so broken, even if they weren't your top choice. Your brokenness has NEVER made you ugly, but has only made you human. You've fallen off of your own pedestal, and I wish you'd stop trying to climb back up to the top. You are PERFECT how you are, and you will grow into who you are meant to be.

God is Love, dear one. He will mend your heart and heal your soul and comfort your grieving.

The Lips of Lovers Shan't Part with Pasts.

2009-01-12T00:28:00.003-05:00

She kept the box a secret from the rest of the explorers.

It was lodged in a wooden puzzle bookcase in the office. Despite being overrun with thousands of skaters, explorers and runaways over the past 11 years, it appeared as though nobody had ever looked twice at this unembellished purple velvet box.

They walked on in front of her, oblivious to her thoughts and curiosity regarding this treasure. They were headed towards the graffitied Budda, talking of ways to scale the massive statute. She barely heard their chatter as her hands ran over the edges of this box. There was no opening, which she found odd. What is the purpose of such a velvet brick? It sounded and felt hollow. She put it in her purse for the time being, until she could be sure that she would not be distracted by her friends. It was her find, her discovery, her intrigue.

The manly men, as they were lovingly dubbed by the group, scrambled to the top of the faux mountains, followed by some of the more courageous women. She sat a good distance off, examining the box in detail. It was burned in one corner, as if a careless smoker had left a cigarette burning upon it as he walked away to attend to a mundane task. She pondered this burn, and other minor bits of wear and tear to the sturdy shell.

She then found a sharp piece of metal, which she used to cut the top piece of the box off. She had hoped for a hidden treasure within, but found it empty. She inspected the green silk-paper interior, which revealed nothing of its past to her. She was growing more and more frustrated by the minute, because this box (which was clearly out of place among the vandalized houses and windows) held closely its past and secrets.

At the peak of her annoyance, she hurled the box towards the murky, algae covered pond in front of Budda. Only one of her friends at the top saw her reaction, and merely chalked it up to meaningless destruction: the theme of the day.

So the box drifted to the bottom of the moat, never to be seen again by human eyes. It was quite successful at containing the secret of its journey to this theme park land. It would never utter the story of the cigars it housed in Thailand, or the money it stored during the travels across the Pacific. It would keep tight the political and social discussions it overheard over many a bottle of Chivas in the home of the Californian sailor, and the tale of the thrift shop in which it sat for 3 years and 2 months. It refused to part with the memory of a British businessman, who for his Asian wife, purchased this newly sacred box as a gift. His gift to her contained 2 commemorative tickets to the opening of his life's dedication: a tribute to her culture and his love for her, Splendid China.

It never once spoke of the simple love it contained for many years, or the vast betrayal it detected that forced the park (and her heart) into closure.

The box, at the bottom of the pond, decayed as easily and quickly as the love it purportedly housed.

Sham.

She Reads.

2009-01-07T17:28:00.004-05:00

She reads Anna Karenina and discovers herself in both Alexey and Anna. She is disgusted with her own infidelity; she is disgusted with his apathy. She is disgusted with the way he refuses to communicate and the way that he refuses to address LIFE. Life and her ugly, vicious, bitchy problems.

She reads Persuasion and longs for a letter like the only part of the book she considers worth reading. She wants someone to care like that for her. She wonders and ponders whether that man really exists. Is it fair to set such an expectation?

She reads Twilight and has anxiety over the way the writer twists and wraps (and warps) her heart around the lead vampire. She learns to detach herself from the books and laugh over the silliness of it all.

She reads the Bible and sees herself in every fall of all of His children. She has been there before and frequently. Maybe not adultery in action, but in thought. Maybe not idolatry with gold, but idolatry with materials. She has turned her back on Jesus; she has walked away from the only intelligent and difficult choice to pursue the heart-deadening, alluring shards of glass the world has given her to slit her wrists. She comes and goes often.

She reads The Unvanquished and finds herself longing for a time when communication was solely dependent upon word of mouth. She wants to find herself in her kitchen, cooking with the servants, finding the soldiers dragging back from war, shouting the news of the finality of the war. She wants to provide the gift of shelter to John Wilkes Booth, while being completely oblivious to the death of her country's leader.

She reads A Brief History of Time (of course only the illustrated version). She illustrates his writings further for a better understanding. She looks into the strange thoughts of a genius man and wants to travel into space with His particles of light, His waves of light. She wants to become part of imaginary time, to travel endlessly at the quickest speed known to man. To feel the crushing weight of the Universe. To traverse the depths of the multiverses in which the rest of her soul lives.

She reads of Dorian Gray and relates to his desire to remain forever youthful.

She reads the Color of Water and ponders the struggles of a black man with a white mother in times when these things were taboo.

She reads Fight Club and relates to the violence, the chaos, and the anarchy.

She reads Frankenstein and relates to his inability to be human.

She reads Sex God and highlights the whole damn book because it all reminds her of her. And the rest of the world, which is obsessive about sex in every form.

She reads Abba's Child and cries at Grace and Love.

She reads To Own a Dragon and sobs at the effects of an absentee dad on her soul.

And then, she stops reading for a time.

Because although all of these books contain part of her,

None of them can withhold her entirety.

2009-01-07T13:00:00.002-05:00

What was it that tore us apart?

What the hell was it? Where did it come from?

It snuck up on us one cold November day, and we never had a chance.

We never heard the sounds as it trod upon the forest towards the cave we used to hide out in.

We never saw the flood waters coming.

We were swept away, of course in opposite directions

Swept away from everything and everybody.

I will never be the same.

Good

Bye.

Oh to be distracted.

2009-01-06T14:29:00.002-05:00

I came out here to sit in my backyard and read the words and thoughts of others. I came to lose myself and my thoughts and introspections in Lamont or Tolstoy. I walked out the double sliding glass doors with the idea of escape from my head.

The wind is blowing the leaves of these trees so slowly, so beautifully, that I can't help but to be distracted by the quiet sound. The sun is slipping through the fronds of the palms, dancing across my feet, my pants, my table, my books. At a distance - just far enough to be soothing and not noisy - I hear the cars and trucks driving down Vineland.

But there's one sound that breaks me: the whisper of notes that trail across someone's backyard, over the slats of my fence, and into my arms. I can't tell if it's a cd or someone actually playing the piano - it's very faint. The sounds drift by and fade out now and again because they are too far away. Part of me wants them closer - to lose my thoughts in the sound of the trilling melody, the repetitive keys. And part of me loves them just where they are. They are far enough away from me that I am not able to absolutely shut down my thoughts.

I just realized, before all of this distracting came to pass, while I opened Traveling Mercies, that my defense mechanism is nonchalance. It's being blunt and hiding in the attitude behind those thoughts. This revelation, as several others have in the past 24 hours, stunned me. It caught me off guard.

It has been rather humbling in the past hours to realize how little I know about myself. How out of tune I am with reality. How much of my time I spend in the knowledge and perceptions in my head, and how little of it I spend outside.

I'm still processing the perceptions others have so graciously given me of myself. I am terrified of their thoughts and yet, in some strange way, overjoyed to face the truth about me.

I said this earlier today, but I feel as though I have learned more about my issues in the past 24 hours than I did in a year or so of on-and-off counseling.

So much to consider.

The Habitat of the Soul

2009-01-05T08:52:00.001-05:00

I arose from my slumber,

One thought in my mind

To seek out the sunlight

And, of course, You.

Before I left,

I felt the rumblings of Your presence

The windows were open,

The breeze a cool wake up call.

My soul was situated entirely within my heart upon waking

(its customary home)

But during the drive,

An explosion rocked the ground

As my soul threatened to break the physical bounds of my fragile body

It was nothing but glorious.

The joy I felt

At the announcement of Your presence

Overwhelmed me

I sung, “You’re Beautiful”

Along with Phil

The words resounding in my heart

As if You inscribed them there in Your precious blood

(indelible ink of sorts)

as I sang.

I then spent hours in the gazebo

Looking out over the rose gardens

Incredulous at the emotional outburst

You inspired within

No words able to flow from my pen

Until hours later.

Serenity sat with me in that gazebo

and the evening found me giddy with laughter.

14 hours of waking pleasure.

Gratitude.

Monochromatic.

2009-01-04T22:49:00.002-05:00

The world is very black and white to me. I am analytical, I am precise, and I consider vague-ness to be a cop out. I evaluate life, people, choices, and conflict in a methodical manner and lay out options in light of these evaluations.

Lately, this has caused me problems.

Apparently, everyone in the world is not like me. Seriously, who knew? No, just kidding. But the truth is that in my mind, the way I solve conflict and see situations is the best. It's efficient (yes, I know that efficiency is not always the best way to approach reaching the end, but when it makes sense, I can't deny its purpose!) Not only that, but it's clear cut and logical and I can write it down and make it ordered and sketch flowcharts and make anyone see its LOGIC.

So when this doesn't work, I get hyper frustrated. Like today. Someone tells me I haven't been a good friend. I ask how. The vague and confusing answer is the vibes I give. How do you measure vibes? How do you change vibes? How do you increase or decrease them? If all that I'm doing is done from love, how in the heck do I change your perception to be more in line with mine? Vibes, I think, are purely based upon perception. You might get a bad vibe from me, but what if it's more related to your bad day? Or your insecurity stemming from an issue unrelated to me?

To take a step backward, I completely understand that not everyone can work on my system that is so logical and worthwhile to me. I don't expect that. But for me to attempt to wrap my mind around this polar opposite form of thinking is beyond challenging. I'm considering myself a failure thus far, to be frank. I can't figure it out. I don't know how to improve and she is not helping me understand.

I have realized, in this course of friendship, that I need to be a little more flexible with my black and white world. I might not go into the murky grey depths of the abstract sea, but I could certainly stand to bend a bit more.

If you wanna help me (since I have no clue how to start), I'd love it.

Maybe we should all screw the monochromatic scheme and find that azure sea and sky.

There is definition.

2009-01-03T18:04:00.004-05:00

I sat and looked into his eyes and I was immediately captivated. There is something about his soul and how different it is from my own that is magnetic. (Even though you might think that it would be more akin to the repellent poles.) I watched his mouth move, uttering inane strings of words; the genuine, raucous laughs repeatedly made their escape from my mouth. Sitting in the moment, I wished for nothing more. Why did it feel so good? To be appreciated and to appreciate him? I can't say I wanted him to leave, so when we said our goodbyes it was far too soon, even at 3am.

In my mind, which thrives on logic and order and sense, I was jotting a 5 page list of all the reasons it would never work. I'm moving to Australia. I'm moving to Australia. I'm moving to Australia. Also, I think he has a girlfriend? (Facebook tells all.) This is mere infatuation. Is there a basis for the attraction, beyond the obvious? Questions and more questions lined up, each waiting their turn to be translated onto that list.

There's also the obvious: his attention seems fleeting.

It felt absurd to have her whisper to me later, "I think he likes you. He keeps finding you whenever you walk away." It didn't seem that way in my mind, but I always tend to question whether the guys I find interesting actually like me. I am quite cautious about letting those thoughts prance through my head. I am certain it has everything to do with expectations increasing and potentials for disappointment.

I have to admit to you, my reader, the truth is that whether or not I might actively acknowledge those words in my head, my heart has already written scrolls upon scrolls about this infatuation. It rarely has the chance, in my days, to be as introspective as the dominate head - but today is her lucky day. She'll keep her secret as long as possible, until the truth is too obvious to ignore anymore.

And the days go by and I think of him sometimes. On my lucky days, like today, I get to see him. Sometimes I keep my distance, saying only hello and goodbye. Other days, I gather his undivided attention close and relish the time spent in our friendship. It must be the heart and the head jousting within for the throne. It makes me smile. I have always enjoyed their tournaments... even though the victor is not always who I support.

Even so, they are both me. So I do always win. This is good for my competitive spirit. (Wait, maybe it's not. I am not adept at losing and this does nothing to mold me?)

I am intrigued to see how this plays out the rest of my time in Orlando. I just realized that I am looking forward to it because it IS black and white. Does that sound strange to you? But there IS definition: I leave in less than 30 days. There is no long-term commitment. It is easy to let it come, let it go. I think. Yes, I will miss him when I am gone, should we become more intimate in our friendship.

But the truth is that long-term allows for, no, demands, vulnerability.

That thought scares me.

2008-12-31T15:27:00.006-05:00

2008. An interesting year. I was reading the back of a bookmark Kate/Jenna gave me last year, and it said "JINK 2007!"

I did a double-take because it seems like so much longer ago than last year that we were reading the Jesus I Never Knew and hanging out at the Ghetto Fab house.

This home was a new addition to my life in 2008. Tiffany and I moved in November 2007 and were just really getting to know each other on a deeper level. We had a constant stream of people in and out of the house. Our sphere, based on Yancey's Disappointment with God, launched in mid-January, I believe. I met Leslie (current roommate), Melissa (of the infamous MJ), Chris Slankard, and several other lovely people. I also got to know several acquaintances better. The conversations launched by the sphere were PHENOMENAL. Theology + emotion + life + bitterness + love + freedom + God = Amazingness. I am so thankful for the 4-5 months I had with this group.

February launched my heart into its current restless state. I visited Drew Harris in Nashville with Tiffany and Susan. I LOVED that city so much and instantly decided to try to move there.It wasn't realistic until at least summer, due to prior commitments, but my heart was set. Quite clearly, it didn't work out. I tried and tried, but it never became easy and I never left Orlando. My heart just wouldn't stop thinking of leaving, though.

In March I went with my mom to Europe: Spain and Italy. I had longed to go to these two countries for so long, and my heart found much joy in them. Spain, with its tapas and siestas, was stunning. I do believe Barcelona was my favorite, and Gaudi's architecture (specifically La Sagrada Familia) BLEW me away. I don't know any other architects by name, but I am certain he would always remain mon prefere. Italy was really fantastic. I was entranced by the language of these beautiful people. I would love to live there someday.

April threw me a huge birthday party (which showed me just how introverted I can be) and another trip to Nashville.

May found Leslie moving in. I still smile at how God worked that out so perfectly with the timing and the way it all went down. Our sphere ended and it was sad.

June was our infamous trip to Miami. We had so much fun. There are so many quotes from that weekend that I can't even begin to remember them all. It was the first time I had done South Beach as it's meant to be done: without a price tag. Luckily, it wasn't my dime, either. We went to the Mansion and it was crazy to pay $400 for a table/bottle and realize that it wasn't VIP - it was 'average'. Miami is a different world.

Also in June, we decided to go to see One Republic in concert. I realize that many people think they are overplayed or just average, but in concert I found them to be captivating. Melissa ended up going to the concert with us (I think her friend wasn't able to go) and thus began an interesting friendship, to say the least.

July and August passed too quickly. July found us at some really fun and random parties. Two, specifically, stand out: Roby's Black & White Party and Chase/Dustin's going away party. Weird things happened. We danced until we looked like we had just showered. Funny, funny, funny quotes arose. Melissa's first freestyle, at least that we were witness to. We also celebrated Tiffany's birthday (Plus Faye's arrival) for at least 4 days. It rained and rained and rained and rained, and yet we continually went out every night for more fun. I invented the JC Drizzle, a drink named after myself of course, and it lives on in infamy.

It was some time in the midst of these months that our two week trip to Australia turned into a one-way ticket. One of us had a bad day at work, and the other's AIM response was, "Screw it, let's book a one-way ticket and quit our jobs."

Little did we know it would become a reality in just a few short months.

September found Leslie, Melissa and I walking up to the Hard Rock, crashing the pool to watch Shrek 2 or 3 under the stars. At some point during the stroll, Melissa and I inadvertently, half-heartedly planned two additional trips - New York City and Seattle. Odd to think we were planning to do this much considering we were supposed to be saving for Oz. Those trips also turned into reality.

October. This month in itself seems like it took a year to pass. We did SO much, and I remember maybe 1/8 of it. There was a Saturday that I never stopped running: MUSE theology, volunteering at Give Kids the World, then partying at Jen Gilanfarr's house for Jahred Schmidt's fundraiser. I remember halfway dreading the day because of everything to be done, but it was a BLAST. Schmidt cracks me up and my heart is happy he's returned. Our halloween party found us dressed up as the characters for Clue. Any time I have 30+ people in my home, laughing and having a good time, S'mores and fire in the backyard, I just can't do anything but smile. There was an underlying uneasiness for me that night, for reasons I shan't admit, but it was a fun night regardless. Then, we found ourselves in Seattle for the weekend of Halloween -Shelby, Mel and myself. It was fun. It rained the whole freakin' time, but it didn't matter. I scored an awesome pair of flat black boots from Old Navy and it made walking in the rain a breeze. I would live in Seattle, especially during the summer.

November went by entirely too fast. Life seems to do that every day. Some days, I am very grateful, while others, I never want that day to end. November took Mel and me to NYC. We happened to be so incredibly lucky that Carolina was in NYC at the same time! Sadly, Walter left a few days before we arrived. We did some touristy stuff with Carolina and her friends and saw Chicago. Amazing. I am not a huge theatre buff, but that show was really intriguing. We went to Justin Timberlake's restaurant, after a fight about how much I don't like Asian food. Well, not really a fight, but it was funny. Do not force me to eat Asian food. Sadly, we had no idea that at the same exact time we were drinking Sweet Tea in Manhattan (who knew?!) JT was on SNL. What I would have given to be in that audience while he was prancing around in a leotard and heels. Geez.

During this same month, we celebrated Mel's birthday. S'mores. This had to be the 5th time I've had them this year. I don't think I've had them 5 times in my life before this year. We played the Paper game (AKA Pass the Paper Pookie) and I was endlessly entertained. I set up a grid fire (Thanks to Sonny's incredible expertise and coaching) that was highly doubted. Those doubters became believers, let me tell you.

The worst part about November was that I lost a friend that I cared greatly about. I look back at it, and I still don't know how it happened. Logic and words refuse to combine into an explanation. I still grieve that friendship, but I think it may be in the morgue. If you read this, all I have to say is that I miss you more than you can imagine if you spent every minute of every day thinking about it. But, people choose to march out of your life when they are ready, and there's nothing you can do to stop them.

Alas, we are to December. I forget everything I've done this month. I celebrated BK's 21st birthday with him - I love BK very much. We've been good friends ever since our road trip to Atlanta last Thanksgiving and I'm grateful for him. That same night I learned more about Myers Brigg from Walter than I ever thought I'd know. Sonny dropped theology bombs on me and my questions while Melissa attacked him and BK's canvas gift with her mad martial arts skills. I got in a fight with another of my best friends because of miscommunication and misunderstandings. We are resolving and I love her very much as well. I came to realize just how hard it is going to be to leave Orlando at the end of January. I'm very excited about my trip to Australia, but departing my community is a scary thought. Last night saw Jahred's return and a lovely winter (if you could call it that) evening on Kate's porch. I sat in the corner wrapped in a blanket and could come up with absolutely no better way to spend a Tuesday night. Tonight is going to be fantastic - coming into 2009 with a vengeance at Walter's amongst a million friends and family. We're gonna burn stuff. But don't you worry, we won't burn the house down: Walter has made sure of that.

Alecia: I have a lot of little memories of you, like wine under the stars over on Universal grounds, snappy UF comments every now and then (specifically a horrible weekend in October), hilarious FB references/arguments, etc. You're freaking fun.

For all of the rest of you I didn't specifically mention, I love you, too. I hope to see you tonight. If you even made it this far. It was a LONG year.

the wind alone can whisper them back to you

2008-12-29T23:33:00.001-05:00

the fire burned brightly
as the lighter lit
and relit
flames licking the lined paper

pages and pages of writings
of secrets and honest emotions
(contained in bold block letters for emphasis)

forced to repeatedly blow it out
so that it would not also destroy
the feelings i wanted to keep
those i may still choose to let see the light of day
and the pupils of your eyes

pieces of me were carried away amongst the ashes
but to be frank
at least part of me
took flight weeks ago
beneath a beautiful orange and pink sky
a fitting tribute:
the twilight afire during the continuous battle
of daylight and night

tragically radiant.

Freedom

2008-12-22T17:55:00.002-05:00

The word is overused. It's utterly lost the extraordinary truth that it contains within its 7 letters.

And yet, when you do something to experience it, the truth and the reality of the blessing it contains becomes

part of you.

YOU.

You're bent, changed, altered, twisted just a little bit (or maybe a lot). You edge just a tiny step closer to God and give him just a little bit more control than you have before, than usual.

Every minute of every day I'm pondering how to run my life and be in charge. In management, it's called delegation. And in the brief encounters I have with my Soulmate, I find that although accomplishing freedom (that letting go) is difficult and counterintuitive, the reward is always shocking.

Because in letting go, you not only give up control of your own life,

but you also stop letting others control it.

And: you give it to the One who can use it best.

As Imogen Heap said: Let go, there's beauty in the breakdown.

Life Sings Her Beautiful Lullaby (but I don't yet want to sleep)

2008-12-21T09:31:00.001-05:00

Pending departure,

Your fragrance has become significantly more potent

(incredibly luring)

I smelled it on the wind that rushed past my body

It lingered on my clothes and in my hair when I returned home.

The aroma of beauty and vulnerability

of friendships and love

The memories of our pasts

and desires for my future...

These came together in a rush

A symphony of immense proportions

Cymbals crashing, violins singing, flutes trilling and timpani rumbling

The utter crescendo of life!

Which then quieted into the most beautiful silence.

Yesterday the world looked more beautiful

More glorious than normal

One might contend it was the best weather of the year,

Or the basic presence of excitement,

But in my closing argument,

I would label it nothing less than love.

My beautiful friends,

It has always been clear

That there will be an Orlando-shaped hole in my heart come this winter.

But it has never been more obvious,

The magnificence that you have taught me

Through relationship, love, and accountability.

Is there a word for this feeling in my heart?

This overwhelming, overcoming appreciation for you and your part in my life?

To classify it as affection, happiness, adoration, longing, or sadness is a feeble attempt at absolute best;

These words combine into a shadowy, colorless, and shapeless drawing

Instead of the bright beautiful colors containing the actual welling up in my soul.

I love you, dear friends.

Obsessed and Addicted

2008-12-11T13:45:00.002-05:00

When I first heard of the Twilight series, I balked at it. I laughed at the movie trailers and anyone silly enough to go and see it.

Women I respected began to read these books, and I must have slightly let my guard down.

Then, two of my best friends willingly went to check out the movie. And loved it, not to mention the main vampire character: Edward Cullen.

My wariness dropped even more. These were smart women, so I knew it couldn't be that bad (even though we definitely don't have the same disdain for chick flicks.) I agreed to see the movie based on the fact that they gave me a free ticket to do so. It was the only way I could be convinced to do it. And I did it.

And thus began the inevitable sucking into the Twilight Zone.

We watched the movie Friday night. I read the first of the four 500+ books in 5 hours Saturday. Sunday brought book 2, plus a second showing of the movie. Monday, feeling less than eager to work, I did the urgent work and saved the rest for later, reading the 3rd book instead. And finally, the 4th book was finished on Tuesday.

I woke up Wednesday morning, in a very blue mood. To say I had an obsession, an addiction, seemed like an understatement. The world seemed a little less colorful that day. I had been pulled into this fantasy world of vampires, werewolves, and perfect love. We had planned to go see the movie a 3rd time Wednesday night (who can resist Rob Pattinson's dreamy pale face?) but about halfway through the day, I hit the brick wall of reality.

Every girl I've known to read this series has become completely involved in these books (read: they have become her life for as long as it's taken to get through them.) While some may be able to obtain a safer distance than others (specifically, me), almost all of us read roughly 2200 - 2400 pages in a mere 4-7 days. Work, laundry, friends, God - all went forgotten. The only important thing was Edward (or Jacob for some). We became ensnared by this fantasy world. We were told lies and believed them. (SMART WOMEN!)

It's not just that Edward taps into the longing desire for perfect love that can only be filled by God - it's also that even this relationship with this Edward that seems so... perfect... is incredibly unhealthy. Jealousy, sneaking around, spending all their time together, forced sexuality (Jake, not Ed), etc is being pushed onto women. girls.

It really IS porn for women. It sells the lie that this is what love really is, when it's in no way representative of LOVE. The gaudy replica of the truth. It always sells SO well, and we never figure out why.

All of the people I know who are reading it are over 20 (adults) and its taken us a while to even realize how crazy we've become. But what does this say to the 12-17 year old girls, at which the book is specifically aimed? How can they be taught the reality of the world + healthy relationships by these books? Impossible. It's blinding.

Melissa also made an interesting point about the setting: the fact that we are asked to suspend our beliefs about reality in regard to the vampires and werewolves also makes it much easier to suspend our disbelief in the relationships as well. "It's okay that Edward is extremely drawn to Bella's blood and wants to kill her: how romantic!" Just insane. You are asked to believe that Edward's main draw to Bella is based on just a few things: her blood (#1), the fact that her mind is blocked to him (curiosity doesn't keep a relationship rolling very long), her klutziness, and her beauty.

For a 110+ year old vampire, I'd expect a bit higher standard.

I realize that I might sound overboard or crazy. Maybe this series of books plays into my insecurities more than others. Maybe others can maintain their distance. But even so, there is something very distressing about the obsession with this series.

Facebook-less

2008-11-29T14:12:00.004-05:00

I have decided upon a new experiment for as long as possible: Life without Facebook.

A cursory glance would indicate that this might be an easy task. It eliminates the distraction of walls, notes, friends, etc. The removal of FB provides more time for me to accomplish tasks I should be focusing upon, in place of FB. Relationships will be more intentional, as it's not quite as simple as logging on to my page any time of day or night and leaving me a message asking to hang out - you have to pursue at least a text message or phone call or (gasp!) an in person invite.

However, my social life might just suffer. Very few people remember to invite non-FB friends to events anymore. It's more of a hope-you-are-lucky-enough-to-hear-it-through-the-grapevine kind of thing. I'm okay with the fact that I might miss out on a few social events, though, because I am frequently overwhelmed by my social calendar anyway. And if it's an event I should really be at, I'm fairly certain someone will tell me in a manner other than facebook.

There are other reasons that I have opted to experiment with this, but they won't be disclosed here. I should admit that I'm not sure how long my will power is going to last, so I might be on as early as tonight. I should also give credit to my roommate Leslie Hege, who has been without Myspace and/or Facebook frequently without problems. She's my inspiration, at least in part.

I just got back to Orlando from Georgia this weekend. It was such an incredibly lovely 4 days at home. I always enjoy seeing my family and hanging out with my Georgian friends; however, this time was the most refreshing time spent out of Orlando in quite a while. Friendships here have lately been challenging and heartbreaking and work - to be expected, of course. I've struggled with being a good friend and finding good friends and loving well and being loved well. I went home to my family (who loves me fairly unconditionally) and my 2 best friends from college (who also are great at loving me despite my flaws) and several other people whom I love dearly. Being at home this week felt like sitting on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, drowsily watching an Audrey Hepburn movie after a fantastic night on the town the night before. It was comfortable and easy and required very little on my part (and I hope those who I spent time with!)

As I spent time with these amazing friends/family of mine, I realized what was missing from some of my friendships here that have been frustrating lately. I am insecure, or else my friend is insecure, in the friendship. It's not completely understood that no matter what, we will be friends; no matter how your flaws come up or how we argue or disagree - we will be friends. There's not enough love, whether on my part or my friends (because there might be a little of both!).

I take responsibility for at least part of most of these unstable friendships and it's my goal to work as I can with God to change these insecurities on both ends. I think it involves me being more present in those friendships that need more stability and love. I think it involves the friend being willing to love me despite how flipping ugly I can be in certain situations, and vice versa.

So work with me if you will to make our friendships better and more unconditional (as much as we are able.)

Love you guys. I want to feel as loved and refreshed in Orlando as I do in Atlanta, and I will strive to accomplish that goal! As for you people who already love me as I mentioned, thanks. Just THANKS.

Forgotten.

2008-10-01T17:11:00.002-04:00

Now, I will leave your life. There will be days that you will have a faint recollection of who I was and what I meant to you. It will be as if you woke after a long night’s sleep during which, at some point, you woke up intoxicated from a glorious dream. But you won’t be able to recall the details or the facial expressions or the laughter - only a passing and vague lifting feeling associated with the memory and dream. That’s what it will be like when I am done with you. You will forget that you ever cared what I thought. I will be gone.

Like the rains on the blacktop during the Florida summer heat.

Like the sound of an ambulance driving farther and farther away.

Like the beauty of a cut flower, wilting as the days pass.

Like the light as the sun passes the horizon and even dusk disappears.

Like the satellite in the night sky after the sun no longer reflects on its metal.

T versus F

2008-09-28T01:18:00.003-04:00

Sulking away,

Keeping to what's safe.

My heart is aghast at your language,

At your cowardice.

Step up, and be a man

Walk into what you deserve

Into what you're afraid of.

Be who you were ordained to be.

Stop playing it safe.

Walk into the fire and be ready to be burned.

You will realize very soon that burns heal,

But the scars will always remind you of true sacrifice and love.

It's what you've long searched for.

You've looked every minute, every day for understanding,

For logic to rule your decisions.

And in the face of feelings,

You are lost, confused and broken.

Your logic cries out in the throes of feeling childbirth,

And it is only then you come to grips with the fact that your logic does you

good.

GOOD.

Give it up.

Wander away from this bondage to which you've voluntarily secured yourself.

Stride away from the ugliness of yesterday

And into the brilliance and promise of Today.

Of Tomorrow.

It takes only one commitment:

One single step.

I'm there,

Past the line which has drawn all your focus and attention.

Once you take the step and pass the line,

You'll see my face quite clearly on the other side.

And you shall know what is meant by peace. love. acceptance.

Anchors Away.

2008-09-22T15:54:00.005-04:00

Floating atop an azure and glassy sea, the vessel happily bobs to and fro.

Beautiful and powerful, it boasts sails of strength that tell of conquests from which few survived to bear witness.

Those few rarely reveal their tales anyway.

Its current location at the dock is well deserved after a perilous and heart-wrenching journey.

The ship begins to drift away from the security of the town.

The local townspeople do not notice its slow departure.

But the next morning, when the ship is barely visible upon the horizon, they wonder why it left.

The gossip in town was that the boat was not set to depart for more than a month, but the reality did not meet the tales.

The answers upon the boat were no more clear, until the anchor was discovered to have been severed.

Gone, without a telling trace.

The crew, quite saddened by their sudden and unexpected lack of stability, is downtrodden.

The skies around them have grown dark and cold - ghostly in appearance.

The color of the world has left them: only blues, grays, and blacks are found.

Even the captain himself can no longer offer words of encouragement.

He is melancholy and silent, and frequently withdrawn into his hold.

Day after day, the ship sails on, into nothingness.

The men have given up on a destination, for all their supplies were unloaded onto the dock.

The hunger and hopelessness is obvious and leaves a desolate taste in their mouths.

When you've lost your anchor, to what must you cling?

Passing driftwood does no good, nor does the ship itself.

No, the only way into the color-filled world again is to find the anchor you lost and restore it to its rightful place.

What It Takes.

2008-09-21T17:19:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, it takes a drastic, dramatic event to make you accept and embrace a change in perception.

Sometimes, it takes only 1 word.

Sometimes, it takes him telling you 1,000 times that you are beautiful before you believe he means his words.

Sometimes, it takes only a kiss for you to believe it.

Sometimes, it takes walking away from the one thing you know to learn how to fly.

Sometimes, it takes only the help of your friends.

Sometimes, it takes masks and faux grins to survive the gauntlet.

Sometimes, it takes only a genuine smile and an open heart.

Sometimes, it takes hearing a song more than once before you cherish it.

Sometimes, it takes only one spin before your heart explodes in its presence.

Sometimes, it takes a near death experience to take each hour seriously.

Sometimes, it takes only known pending death.

Sometimes, it takes thinking to make the best decision.

Sometimes, it takes only instinct.

And sometimes, it takes love to break the walls down you've built up.

Scratch that: it always requires love.

Always.

Golden Words

2008-09-18T23:30:00.004-04:00

You, there, with your golden words.

Jail them.

Incarceration is required for the crimes committed.

They are no longer any use to me whatsoever! I cannot stand for even a moment longer to hear them dribble out of your mouth as casually as a sunny summer day.

They have the substance of a glass bubble - fragile.

They have the falseness of playboy - actions mismatched.

They have the oiliness of a greaser - slick as can be.

spun

woven

wrapped around my mind

you've trapped me here and I hate you for it.

and now you cannot hear my own?

I'll bury your gold,

So deep that they'll search for it as the treasures of old.

But I won't leave them a map.

They will be hidden in the darkest part of the earth,

Where none will ever traverse.

And to my neighbors and friends: don't search for these nuggets.

They've not the value you think;

Turning to dust in your hand,

Blowing away in the wind.

Physically gone, but retained eternally in your memory.

"In the mourning I can see the light"

2008-09-16T14:31:00.006-04:00

"I never thought you'd leave."

These surprising words were uttered in the depth of the night, long after the chaos of the bars had quieted.

It was said bluntly in a moment of drunkenness - though I must allow that the intoxication may have been from the truthfulness and honesty of our conversation. Something with which you seem unfamiliar, and which can certainly bring an attachment of sorts. Confessions and laughter and tears and silence combined into a menagerie of acceptance.

We dove farther and farther into this beautiful and freeing conversation - areas we had not ever traversed before - bringing an intimacy that was peaceful and heady. The hours, as usual, passed far too quickly, but I immersed my soul in you for those few minutes I was allowed.

And as the sun rose again, the world seemed entirely different, even though it looked just as we left it the night before.

Pulling myself out of the waters of confusion, mourning and grieving over the dead body washed ashore,

I came to the frank realization that everything had changed.

But the world LOOKED the same.

Obviously, it was only my heart that changed.

My heart and my mind - they were charmed for a night by ideas wrapped around potential...

But they were brought back screaming and kicking to the harsh sunlight of early morning.

They weren't accepting of the old surroundings any longer.

Once again, I paste on my plastic smile of normalcy and the garish makeup of faux peace, and wander back into the streets, where I surely will encounter you again, and soon.

And you will try to pretend we haven't changed,

But I will look deep into your eyes and see the difference in your soul.

It's the only bit of hope I have left.

CHASING your ghost, yet again...

2008-08-18T13:30:00.001-04:00

Where did you go? I turned around for just a second and, now, you are just... GONE. My eyes are stretching to see as far as they can, which isn't far enough to locate you - your body. My soul is searching near and far and anywhere it's seen you before, but it's not far enough to locate you - your spirit.

My heart drops and my eyes water and I wonder at the meaning of our separation. Was it me? Did I push you away so far that you never found the right path to bring you back? Was it you? Did you run away because your fears overcame you and your nomadic tendencies are now in control? Was it fate? We were separated because the gods never intended for us to know each other past this dot on the timeline of life?

The questions continue to come and my heart knows no answers. In its age, it's garnered wisdom and strength, but in this moment, the two goddesses have fled the body, leaving me to deal with this only in my mind with my logic.

I'm done. I want to be done with the idea of you. But even so, you creep into my mind every now and then, passing through my eyes and my ears into the deepest parts. The blackest parts with the hidden doors that are locked, sealed, and shut so that no one could possibly ever locate them. And now you've determined to squat there, dwelling inside places you were never intended to go.

One day, I swear that I will never think of you again.

The Silence of the Rooftop.

2008-08-09T18:26:00.004-04:00

The silence of the rooftop.

It shall never acclaim the serious and light-hearted conversations it overhead as we lay atop it. Talking of dreams and hopes and desires and wonders and questions and answers and life and then... silence.

But the silence was sometimes even more beautiful and glorious and pleasant than all the meaningful and meaningless letters organized into words and then sentences. The silence alone was worth the entire trip I made to see you. Something about the comfort level and familiarity was reassuring and knowing and... well, I can only compare it to a vague understanding of the Peace of God.

Truly.

So we watched the spotlights circle and the sounds of the chopper flying overhead. We pretended and laughed and made up stories of Bonnie and Clyde - we became them and we were the source of this chase. I loved every millisecond of it. There is something about the collision of us, the joining of us, the misled hearts and minds and creativity and wonder that we bring together that is

--UNIQUE--

And as always, the bandits Time and Change arrived so very quickly, showing us that as Bonnie and Clyde we knew nothing of thievery. They took everything we had and so much more that we didn’t understand then. Nothing was the same after that. Our laughter slowed and the space between grew and we always wonder whether it was fate or a grand mistake that they found us so quickly.

They swore to come back again should we talk about them, and I heard of a nearby incident last night that brought them back to mind.

They were right down the street.

So now, I ask you, do we pretend that they don’t exist, talking not of them and giving them all the control...

OR...

Do we grab our guns, put on our war paint, smirk at each other and attack the two thieves, catching them by surprise?

You know my choice. It’s the same every time. I am not one to shirk from the gunfire, friend, so meet me on the battlefield.

2008-08-09T18:26:00.001-04:00

Black Widows versus Beauties.

2008-06-19T22:31:00.001-04:00

One day, you’re gonna look at the past...

You’re going to wonder:

What the fuck did I do?

How could I possibly have been so ignorant?

You’re going to look at the girls:

Those bitches who broke your heart

Without a second thought.
Those black widows who stole your soul

Without blinking.

You’ll regret those girls, intensely.

But even more-so:

You’re going to remember the ones you walked by;

The ones you treated as dispensable.

Disposable.

The women who loved you for you.

The beauties who weren’t as flashy,

Who weren’t as dramatic,

Who weren’t drawn in such bold colors.

And you will feel this cut to your soul

Much, much more than the ones who hurt you.

Regret and remorse will overtake you

At the point you come to realize

The deep, deep pit you’ve locked yourself in.

It’s certain you will run from that pit,

Falling into the one next door.

Until you learn

And acknowledge your depravity.

You may change,

But the house is betting you will not.

And the house ALWAYS wins.

How do I know, you ask?

Because you look into the mirror,

Studying yourself deeply,

And both you and I see...

Me.

But at least I'm aware of my depravity.

Gone, Baby, Gone.

2008-06-14T21:53:00.002-04:00

Some people are too nice.

Some, too mean.

Where is the middle?

Where is the understanding?

Why does the phone ring in the middle of the night?

It's ringing for you,

And it's never good news:

Come to tell you of the world,

Of the evil within.

Live another day, my love.

Hope for something better.

It will come.

But it may not be in this life.

For eternity is not yet.

Eternity feels so.... so far away.

It almost seems. Unattainable?

But - we're told it's worth it.

In our fast food society, can we hold out?

Can we wait for what's better??

Oh, LOVE.

Thank you for your strength.

Without it, I would be nothing.

Oh, GRACE.

Thank you for your beauty.

Without it, I would be lost.

Oh, WISDOM.

Thank you for your wonder.

Without it, I would be small.

Yes.

We will wait.

This world contains tiny packets of the future: good.

But we long, hope, and are destined for so much more.

WAIT.

Xerox.

2008-06-12T18:40:00.002-04:00

Are you a photocopy of someone else?

Do you constantly watch other people and mimic?

Do you have any idea who you are, or do you let other people define you?

Our generation is one of trends.

Very few people are trendsetters;

Most are followers.

And not everyone can be first to a new idea...

But everyone IS unique.

I think that many of us tend to forget that to look different is to be beautiful.

To know who you are,

To love who you are,

To be confident in who you are,

Especially in the face of conflict or adversity?

That is...

Life.

Defining.

Understanding.

That. is. Freedom.

Toss off those chains,

Because a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy

Tends to be too blurry.

Or look like Bill Murray.

(FYI: That was a completely unintentional rhyme. But it works.)

What dolphins teach us about love...

2008-06-11T08:05:00.002-04:00

One recent evening, after seeing OneRepublic in concert, I had an interesting conversation with my girl friends. Somehow, we were on the topic of their experiences in swimming with dolphins.

I can't personally relate to this, as I've never done it. Nonetheless, some eyebrow-raising judgments arose from these stories. Well, their eyebrows rose - it made perfect sense to me.

Leslie swam with dolphins in the Keys. She said they were incredibly friendly and loving. The entire experience was just as she expected - as I think we all expect. You know, riding around on the back of a dolphin with our arms spread wide, our thighs held tight and a super-fake-movie smile plastered on our faces.

That type of happy.

Melissa, on the other hand, had a rougher experience in swimming with Dolphins in Tanzania. While on a business trip (I think), she decided that she wanted to experience the love of dolphins as well.

But... instead the dolphins were rough. I remember her saying something along the lines of, "I expected to be grabbing on to their fins and being whisked around while they swam. But it was more like trying to grab onto them as they swam by at lightning fast speeds. They weren't easy to catch and they weren't as friendly as they are typically portrayed."

My immediate comments were regarding romanticized love. I think this stemmed from the fact that we have had several conversations about my cynicism since Leslie moved in, specifically surrounding chick flicks. I, as a general rule, detest chick flicks because they set up such unreal expectations for women in regard to love.

Life doesn't end happily ever after. (I mean seriously, even in Enchanted - in which Disney makes fun of itself and its illogical ideas - the FREAKING MOVIE ENDS HAPPILY EVER AFTER!)

And you can argue, if you like, that it's just a story or just a movie: But I swear to you, these ideas get embedded in our minds as women. And when 'real' men don't add up, it certainly causes some type of tension.

Just a closing thought about chick flicks: I think they depress me because they give me this idea that my life sucks because it isn't like that pretty girl's life in the movie. Maybe I should know better - that this is mere fiction - but it doesn't sit that way with my soul.

So, back to the dolphins.

I found it entertaining (and lucky for me, quite fitting for my cynicism) that the American dolphins were the fun, friendly, lovey-dovey dolphins, while the African dolphins were not. My exact words were, "American dolphins represent chick flicks and American ideas of love. The African dolphins - now that's the real world."

Consider the parallel. You walk away from your American experience feeling in love and great about yourself. The animals are so lovely and loving and sweet and probably even gave you a kiss on the way out. Just as their way of saying, goodnight. Oh, and thanks for coming.

Melissa, in her African experience, was reminded that things are not always as they seem. In real life, people are too busy for each other (a sad truth). They rush by each other, forgetting to invest daily in their relationship. In real life, people are portrayed as one thing, but often end up being something else. To be honest, that's true for love, too. America has built up this idea of what love should look like, but to be certain - it's only infatuation. We have a severe problem with this infatuation. When things eventually settle down into the opportunity for true, unselfish love - people run. That type of love is just scary. And hard. And selfless.

Most people don't want to invest.

Thus, my synopsis is this: if you want a glimpse of the real world and feisty dolphins, go to Africa. If you like chick flicks and happy-go-lucky dolphins, stay in America.

(Disclaimer: if you don't know me well, I was laughing hysterically as this came to pass. I certainly, at least halfheartedly, meant part of what I was saying. But it was also in jest.)

Looking backwards through a kaleidoscope.

2008-06-09T22:07:00.002-04:00

Abandonment.

We often turn it around, seeing things only from our own angle.

But we are the ones who abandon.

Running into our 'freedom'.

Oh, 'freedom' - it ain't so free after all!

Issues with authority.

Self sufficiency.

Independence.

We are quite brilliant.

Or so we think.

"Can anyone really know what's best for me, other than me?"

Our warped mindset is at least somewhat the result of our bizarre society.

I find it humourous that we consider God's Kingdom 'backwards.'

Rather, it surely must be the other way around!

Reverse.