I can't even handle this.

back to school = back to reading

I do not believe that the gospel, which literally means "good news," is given to tell us that we have failed or been false. That is not news, and it is not good. We already know much of that about ourselves. We know we have been false, even to those whom we most love in our lives and would most want to be true to. We know we have failed people and whole nations throughout the world today, who are suffering or who are subjected to terrible injustices that we could do more to prevent. So the gospel is not given to tell us what we already know. Rather, the gospel is given to tell us what we do not know or what we have forgotten, and that is who we are, sons and daughters of the One from whom all things come. It is when we begin to remember who we are, and who all people truly are, that we will begin to remember also what we should be doing and how we should be relating to one another as individuals and as nations and as an entire earth community.

- J. Philip Newell, an excerpt from Christ of the Celts

this song gives me goosebumps.

i don't love you
but i always will

by the river piedra i sat down and wept

Sometimes an uncontrollable feeling of sadness grips us, he said. We recognize that the magic moment of the day has passed and that we’ve done nothing about it. Life begins to conceal its magic and its art.

We have to listen to the child we once were, the child who still exists inside us. That child understands magic moments. We can stifle its cries, but we cannot silence its voice.

The child we once were is still there. Blessed are the children, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

If we are not reborn – if we cannot learn to look at life with the innocence and the enthusiasm of childhood – it makes no sense to go on living.

There are many ways to commit suicide. Those who try to kill the body violate God’s law. Those who try to kill the soul also violate God’s law, even though their crime is less visible to others.

We have to pay attention to what the child in our heart tells us. We should not be embarrassed by this child. We must not allow this child to be scared because the child is alone and almost never heard.

We must allow the child to take the reins of our lives. The child knows that each day is different from every other day.

We have to allow it to feel loved again. We must please this child – even if this means that we act in ways we are not used to, in ways that may seem foolish to others.

Remember that human wisdom is madness in the eyes of God. But if we listen to the child who lives in our soul, our eyes will grow bright. If we do not lose contact with that child, we will not lose contact with life.

- from By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coelho, page 24.

2 nights ago

on a sailboat, in the san juans.
i laid outside - it was nearing midnight.
i looked up.
left and right, north and south, up and down, east and west.

stars.

they encompassed me, surrounded me, encircled me.
they hugged me safely,
and held me.

today

I let myself wander around the neighborhood. no purpose in mind or goal to attain. exercise, perhaps. if I felt like it.

I walked. then would run, sprint. stop. sit. turn my ipod up louder, then skip 4 or 5 songs to find a better one. walk some more. turn here or there, but I didn't really care where I was going. I couldn't be bothered with such trivial things like a destination.

I crunched leaves violently as I walked. threw a few things. tried to look left and right as I crossed the road. I let my mind wander where it wanted to wander and let my body follow suit. do what it wanted. faster, slower, stop. turn.

tears formed at one point. at almost exactly the same moment when one of my favorite phrases from one of my favorite songs blared in my ears: "there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears" (after the storm by mumford and sons). I found myself surprised that the two happened at once.

eventually, I made my way back home.

ache

ache - the toppling over,
the feeling that something vital is disintegrating,
the stuck in the muck feeling
seeping out at the edges
- oh - I want to twist away from this loneliness.
there seems to be no place for it
in the swirling world around me.
all this sadness and unexpressed parts.

we can end up carrying all this sadness
and unexpressed bits of ourselves if we don't
speak up
spill often
and be truly as we are

I am learning that loving all the way
can ache and sting, but loving halfway
doesn't keep us safe,
it leaves us with a hope that could
never live out loud.

let yourself pour forward and be a
place for your ache to rest.

- from "the true and the questions" by sabrina ward harrison

heartbreak hurts.

it's supposed to, I guess. that's why it's called a "break" - a severing of what once was together. something, indeed, has been broken.

and in this pain I long to feel better, to be able to breathe, to rest... when really I must honor the brokenness.

the layers.

[one of my professors read this poem at my school's graduation last week.]


I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face,

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

- stanley kunitz

hello?

this is a test.
is this thing on?

I tried to post a blog a week or so ago to no avail...