Saturday, August 15, 2009
Needless to say I am a little angry today. Unfortunate, as it shows that I am a little off the end goal of having him not matter. Incidents will always hold significance of course, as they are the experiences that sum up our existence. But the people behind the experiences do not have to matter - and eventually, this one will not. I look forward to the day when there is no more anger, no more sadness, no more fear ... simply nothing. When I can look into his face and not sense a thing, as if he were merely a cup, a bowl, or something else inanimate and dispensable. I doubt that will ever happen of course, at least, I hope I never have the chance to figure out how far I've come and that I'll even forget I had such a goal.
But of course I have to turn everything into a spiritual / academic exercise and will agonize over the theology of it all. Thankfully, the distance that every day brings offers a little more perspective and clarity and for now, this is where I stand, more or less: I will wish him the best in life and love and will, with God's grace, do so willingly and with joy, as I do not wish anyone to suffer. But I will not concern myself with the specifics that is him, or care for who/what/how he is. Jesus loves him, but I am sure as hell not Jesus. I feel like Jesus died so that I am not responsible for such failings.
"Hannah! I am proud of you!
You said that a lot last month,
but I didn't believe that you really felt it.
But now I do.
And I think, it takes a lot to lose respect such as yours."
Thursday, August 13, 2009
There's no space or time to waste anymore, on all that has failed.
Nothing personal. Because, from experience, nothing ever was.
A Time for Everything
1 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
So why need we be afraid? Time heals all things, if not, it erodes that which needed healing in the first place.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
He once said that I ought to be ashamed for riding through life on my smile and sweetness. Emphasis on shame (I soon forgot to smile and that life was sweet). I took the point and a little more, for I discovered that it is the same crime to bludgeon through life, blind, wielding the scars and insecurities with little grace. So I came to the conclusion (and boy do I love conclusions! Temporary as they may be) that I must now learn to be firm, be precise, be good both in person and in work, be confident and productive, without losing either smile or scar - for we are the sum of our experiences.
Am I strong enough to walk on water?
Smart enough to come in out of the rain?
Or am I a fool going where the wind blows?
~ Goin' Where the Wind Blows :: Mr. Big (Concert Oct 12th!)
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
~ Kind senior student from the LKYSPP.
~ CK. Because Lightning the dog wouldn't stop staring at me and my food with puppy dog eyes.
Monday, August 10, 2009
And in the quiet moments:
I am not learning how to play this song because it is always meant to be told to me. For the rest of my life.
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not language but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.
Crudely put, some things just can't be spoke about.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
I guess it's not really about what you decide to do, but how you do it, that determines where your heart is. Between trusting God and sheer laziness, I am praying that my heart is set toward the former.