Stories

I'm having one of those days where I just want to do everything possible during my lifetime. I want it all.

I want to travel everywhere and I want to settle down. Single forever. Have a big family. Save the whales. Be a teacher. A farmer. A fisher. An artist. Bike across the US. Bike around Copenhagen. Sail to Patagonia. Bike back. Climb mountains. Plant a garden. Climb El Cap. Be a logger. Be a tree-sitter. Play music in a traveling stage-trailer transformation. Be a zookeeper. A baker. A surgeon. Learn to dance like Robyn. Have a dog. Dogs. Have a pig. Lots of chickens. Don't live in the suburbs. Live in a city. Live in the mountains. Live by the coast. Live in a tent. Live in a commune. Live in a farmhouse. Live alone. Live with 30 other people. 5 other people. Learn my family history. Learn history of blacks in America. Listen to the blues. Love the blues. Learn the stories of the Greeks. Know history of the LGBT community. Read a Hilary Clinton book. Do that Master's Cleanse thing. Write letters. Bake Apricot Butterhorns. Play in an orchestra. Go to the ballet. Know the names of trees. And birds.

I think I could do it all. I get overwhelmed because I'm afraid I'll forget and my life will pass by me without me noticing that I never did what I wanted to do.

Ashes and Ash Trees

I.

"smile, would you?" she looked at me with her big fishy eyes. teeth hidden under 5 year old lips. My heart leaps. I smile for the first time in a week. She holds the fish together. mouth touching mouth. all I see are 2 eyes and her smile, like a teacup. upside down.

II.

Lost in the mountains

never been here before

i'm lost. i'm wet. i'm tired.

the maps are useless.

my sense of direction is useless

hell, the only things that aren't useless are my legs,

my sense of humor

and this goddamn British accent.

This food, this empty water bottle,

even this frustration, fear is useless.

He is pissing me off. We are laughing.

always.

speaking in British. Bloody hell.

Pumpkin pie and a hot tub

I feel it now.

with whipped cream. yum.

we'll be fine no matter what

a little hungry, a little tired

we'll be okay

we shouldn't have gone this way. oh well

let's just get back.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then you shall truly dance.

III.

She's gone?

no. it's not real.

Her smile, her laugh.

Goddammit, here's her phone number

next to her name

here's a note from her

her god-fucking-damn facebook page

she fell? how? what? No.

I just woke up. So confused. gone.

God.

Never see her again. how?

this doesn't happen. not like this.

it's fine. she's fine.

I just talked to her a couple days ago.

Trust your dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity

IV.

utterly still under the falling earth

the world all astir above

a million leaves alive in the wind

and what do we know?

At our dinner together, the dead enter and pass among us in living love and memory.

V.

I began to feel that something was required of me.

Sometimes something would be required that I could do

and I did it.

Sometimes when I didn't know what was required,

I still felt the requirement.

Whatever I did never felt like enough.

Something I knew was large and great would have happened.

Stronger than me all my life.

What could you do?

What could you do that would be anyways near enough?

I could feel the greatness of life and death,

and the great world endless as the sky swelling out

beyond this little one.

And I began again to hear from that requirement

that seems to come from the larger world.

The requirement was telling me,

"Do something for her. Do more than you've ever done.

Do more than you can do."

I came to do something for her, if I could,

and instead she had done something for me,

and I was more in debt to the requirement

than ever.

VI.

O saints, if I am even eligible for this prayer,

though less than worthy of this dear desire,

and if your prayers have influence in Heaven,

let my place there be lower than your own.

I know how you longed, here where you lived

as exiles, for the presence of the essential

Being and Maker and Knower of all things.

But because of my unruliness, or some erring

virtue in me never rightly schooled,

some error clear and dear, my life

has not taught me your desire for flight:

dismattered, pure, and free. I long

instead for the Heaven of creatures, of seasons,

of day and night. Heaven enough for me

would be this world as I know it, but redeemed

of our abuse of it and one another. It would be

the Heaven of knowing again. There is no marrying

in Heaven, and I submit; even so, I would like

to know my wife again, both of us young again,

and I remembering always how I loved her

when she was old. I would like to know

my children again, all my family, all my dear ones,

to see, to hear, to hold, more carefully

than before, to study them lingeringly as one

studies old verses, committing them to heart

forever. I would like again to know my friends,

my old companions, men and women, horses

and dogs, in all the ages of our lives, here

in this place that I have watched over all my life

in all its moods and seasons, never enough.

I will be leaving how many beauties overlooked?

A painful Heaven this would be, for I would know

by it how far I have fallen short. I have not

paid enough attention. I have not been grateful

enough. And yet this pain would be the measure

of my love. In eternity's once and now, pain would

place me surely in the Heaven of my earthly love.

VII.

I stand on the rock, raising my height to half that of my brothers

Reaching with arms outstretched, I graze it's skin

tip toes. almost. got it.

I wrap my arms around its one immovable arm

dancing upwards

always upwards.

We sit forever watching the world below.

an Illinois' mountaintop.

We throw ropes weighted with jewels from the garden

heaving them higher and higher

and like animals we swing to and fro.

watching us play,

the holder of countless pinatas,

bearer of many a 6-year-old experiment,

the hideaway of ghosts on a cold night,

the storehouse of neighborhood treasures.

a grandmother watching us quietly

a friend holding us tightly, wiping our tears

concealer of spies, coverer of the vulnerable.

ash to ashes.

leaves fall each year. and leaves fall for good.

living love and living memories.

that 6 year old, the watched, the vulnerable, the playful

won't forget. not ever.

Occupy

There have been so many criticisms of this movement, and I have been among the criticizers for far too long. Americans have been in a dry spell of democratic power, and we've been pretty nihilistic. Clearly, something is wrong here. This system doesn't work. Maybe the people who are occupying are just bored or unemployed or whatever, but it seems like most of them have been hurt by the system's faults and have experiences and stories that are valuable. And, it is true that everyone who is part of Occupy is there for a different reason, and that seems to stem from a problem that is so complex that it manifests itself in millions of ways.

Here is some more media coverage, but if you really want to know what is happening, just go to the occupy movement in your city. They'd love to tell you what they're doing and why they are there.

Stories of the 99%

Tumblr - http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/

Twitter - http://www.occupationalist.org/

Commentaries I found helpful

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/paul-loeb/from-occupy-wall-street-t_b_1085255.html

http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2011/10/poll-most-americans-support-occupy-wall-street/246963/

http://www.thestreet.com/story/11305424/1/occupy-wall-street-actually-in-the-1.html

http://blogs.berkeley.edu/2011/11/08/occupy-now-what/

http://www.businessweek.com/news/2011-11-10/occupy-protesters-inject-income-inequality-into-political-debate.html

Occupy Los Angeles (OLA)

http://occupylosangeles.org/

http://www.olapeoplescollectiveuniversity.org/

p.s. been listening to the most unlikely of music. this girl...

I

this is home
where I breathe deep,
speak softly, think clearly
where the obstacle of electric lights,
and the distraction of the things
we use to distract ourselves
are made obsolete.
when we speak, we listen
when we see, we look
when we hear, we understand.
where god is not far off int he sky
the divine is here
in your eyes
in the rush of water
in the history of the age-old trees.
where we can laugh without competition
find truth without restraint
and play without inhibition.
this is our home.
yours and mine.
of the sycamore and the locusts
of the orb weavers and lady-beetles
of the treacherous mosquitoes
and the pleasing lichen.
welcome home.

II

this is not home.

we do not belong here.

we cannot breathe too deep.

we speak loudly, over planes, buses, yelling, pleading.

our thinking is clouded,

overwhelmed by stimuli too great to hear ourselves.

the obstacle of electric lights.

the distraction of the things we use to distract

are more obvious than life itself.

when we speak,

there is no space between head, mouth, and heart.

when we see

it is informed by each experience, word, conversation, laugh, look.

when we hear, it is everything yet nothing.

where god is different to each person, and

sometimes hard to find beneath this rubble.

the divine is here, though,

in the slow, soft-spoken conversation in dim light after hours,

in the generations upon generations in the back closets of this old house,

in the grief-filled yet joyful stories of the soul that have lived ages beyond us.

where I laugh carefully, knowing the world beyond the laughter.

dig deeply for truth beyond the facade of lies.

and play, when we lay aside the hurt,

lay aside the grime, but never forget

this is not home, no.

but it's where we are and where we will be.

where we are face to face with our screw-ups, and misguided decisions

where we move on or sit still, never without a deep breath

with a gentle confidence

and with stories of years past holding our hands.

I cry easily these days. I don't sleep much most days. I sleep too much other days.

A series of things in my life lately has made my heart a little softer and my reactions a lot gentler.

A beautiful story, a sad story, a friend in pain, confusion, the terrors of our society woven so intricately it seems impossible to ever untangle. I cry easily.

Today, I planted all the seedlings in the bed I am working on at the garden. I was so excited. It is going to be beautiful. Hell, it already is beautiful. There are two trellises, they are my favorite, for the snap peas. They will look better covered in peas. I am going to fill in all the holes with seeds on Thursday. I'm excited for the problem solving involved in protecting these plants from harm and helping them to grow the best they can. I'm excited for the kids to see it and harvest and eat!

Here is photo of the first day of the little seedlings in their new home.

And, there are some days when I like LA, like this one day when I took this photo.

scholia

Lately, I've been super excited about all that I'm learning.

Today, I sat in on a trial at the LA court house. The trial was about a gang murder. I was learning so much the whole time, I felt like I was in a classroom, except I was learning everything in a simplified, rational, question/answer argument. I wish I would have gone to a trial when I was younger...I probably would have had the dream of becoming an attorney. With my terrible knack for argument and need for logic, I would have had high dreams of defending the rights of others. Things are probably better off this way. Fun fact: Today was the Dr. Murray/ Michael Jackson trial at the courthouse too...lots of cameras and protesters and stuff...wooo LA.

And oh man, I am learning so much at the garden. I have learned about different techniques in amending soil and been able to practice them in my own project of a 3x30 foot bed! I've learned a bit about permaculture. I was introduced to the Three Sisters technique of gardening (which is genius...you should check it out). I am learning about harvesting, and bugs, and nitrogen, and native plants, and whole bunches of other garden stuff that you probably aren't super interested in. I'll try to remember to take pictures of the garden tomorrow, so I can share it with y'all. The melon patch, pumpkin patch, and strawberry patch are looking awful fine these days. (And it rained all day today, so it will look mighty fine tomorrow, I bet.)

I have just finished my first class for the semester, and I am onto the next, and it's going to be great. I just have the feeling. I will probably share more about it later. It's called Urban Religious Movements.

what a day

to be a better friend.

to love deeply.

to laugh without hesitation.

to play without holding anything back.

to greet others with joy and excitement.

to take life in moment by moment.

to not take any person for granted.

to not take any day for granted.

to not be bitter.

to recognize the beautiful things more often than the terrible.

to celebrate everyday.

to have magic, wonder, excitement, hope each day.

What an interesting day today has been. I mourned the loss of a friend, celebrated the life of my grandmother on her birthday (cheers to you Grams, if you're reading!), started an internship at an awesome garden with the awesome-est kids, felt the connection of a vast community of friends and companions as we mourned together.

It's one of those days when your heart sits a little deeper down in your body, closer to your stomach than before.

When your vision is kind of blurry all day and you make other people a little bit more aware of their humanity every time the floodgates open.

When you say, "this f#$%ing sucks" about a millions times.

When your stomach hurts for no physical reason.

When you want to be better the next day than you were the day before.

When you talk a little slower.

When you are more comfortable with silence.

When you appreciate the people you love more than the day before.

When you express your love more freely.

I don't usually just write about my day-to-day life, but I think I'm going to do that.

So, I have classes Monday, Wednesday, Friday. The class on M/W is six hours, but most of it is spent outside of the classroom, somewhere in LA. For example, today's class was about homelessness, so we read articles of differing opinions before class and wrote about our reaction, then in class we went to Skid Row, where homelessness has been somewhat contained in LA, and we had to just walk around and talk to people. I talked to a man about his opinions on the Missions in the area, and then we had to go work at a Mission as a group afterwards. It was super interesting to hear the viewpoints of the homeless people for whom the services are provided, as well as the viewpoints of the people working in the Missions providing services to the homeless. Other days we learned about health care and visited LA County health center and watched Sicko, we learned about education and visited a charter school, we learned about public transportation and visited the Bus Rider's Union and the Metro Transit Authority (groups of somewhat opposing interests and opinions). It's good for me to learn these things outside of the normal form of education--books and lectures. It seems like a more comprehensive form of education because it involves my brain in reading and writing and thinking critically, but it does not forget the emotional/sentient side of my humanity. I can see, hear, feel, and touch this issues. I feel things deeply rather than just think about them deeply.

T/Th I will work at a garden at an elementary school (for class credit). Tomorrow is my first day! I couldn't be more excited. I made some white bean hummus to share with the other interns for lunch. mmmm, yes.

This past weekend, I had the most wonderful opportunity to get out of LA for a very short while. I met some dear friends after class and drove east to Joshua Tree National Park. Campfire, slept outside, breathed deeply, basked in the 105 degree heat and full-on sun of the desert all day, and climbed all the next day, laughed all the next day, ate some super tasty pizza. It was the most perfectly refreshing weekend I could have asked for. Now I'm back to LA...which is growing on me.

That's all I got, folks.

word vomit.

I miss the woods real bad.

I miss being able to confidently inhale deeply and know that you will feel better.

The safety of the trees. The stars. Critters. Having the people you want to hang out with most a walking distance away at all hours of the day. Mountain people. Swimming in alpine lakes. Wildflowers. Dirt. Being dirty (rather than grimy). My friends.

It's harder to be my honest self here.

I feel tired, upset, on edge most of the time.

I feel useless.

unknown.

alone.

I feel much more alone among the masses of people in the city than when I am alone in the mountains.

just trying to figure things out. and get things out.

City of Angels, Valley of Smoke

The city.

A new city, to me.

There is something unsettled and uneasy inside of me. I have to learn to be myself, and to be a person that I want to be in a new environment. There are moments when I fit in with all the cogs in this machine rather than being me.

I feel myself hardening, already. My words come out of my mouth more harshly than before. The content of my words bring less love, gratitude, and joy than before. Criticism and judgment have replace the gems that used to fill my mind and words.

I've sat on many buses in my life, but now the bus becomes my bus. I've stood on many corners and crossed many streets, but now these corners and these streets are my home. And, at first glance (and many glances after), it doesn't seem like a place fit to be called home, but it must be and will be for a while, while I embrace that idea with little enthusiasm.

I am the luckiest to have a peaceful and quiet home where it is safe to walk around the block at night. It is a secret niche and haven that seems separate from the chaos of this city. I have a kitchen full of delicious and healthy food. I have a balcony that is perfect for reading books on in the evenings.

This life seems contrived to me. City life. Like we are all playing a big game of make-believe. Except no one would ever, in their right mind, dream of a place like this to live, to grow, to bring new lives into.

And I guess my few months here will hopefully be filled with making lives less contrived. I am living in a community inside of the larger one of the city. I, hopefully, will be learning things that help me understand the effects of living in our make-believe world. And, although I will not be stopping the contrived living, I will either be lessening the effects, or teaching youngsters that there is another way to live. We will see how this plays out.

Though we have life, it is beyond us. We do not know how to have it, or why. We do not know what is going to happen to it, or us. It is not predictable; though we can destroy it, we cannot make it. It cannot, except by reduction and the grave risk of damage, be controlled. It is, as Blake said, holy. To think otherwise is to enslave life, and to make, not humanity, but a few humans its predictably inept masters.

(Wendell Berry "Life is a Miracle")

Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.

(King Lear, IV,iv,55)

It is such a strange feeling. To be in a place with so many people in such close proximity, yet to only know a couple. How strange it is to spend three months in the presence of a handful of soulful, creative, joyful people 24 hours every day, then to sit on a plane for a few hours and be so separate from all of them. I feel disconnected to be sitting in the house I grew up in, the place I will always call home, yet feel so far from the people who have known me best lately.

Good-byes stir up fearsome emotions inside of me. It is a terrible thing to leave the people you love and the places that fill special nooks and crannies in one's heart. If I could have one wish it would be to have a party with everyone whom I love, everyone who is important to me. People who know me nearly better than I know myself, and people who I have met once, yet we caught that look in each other's eye that marked what could be a lovely friendship. The party would last forever, and we would laugh, cry, drink, eat, dance, swim, make music, build tree houses, dip our feet in rivers, tickle the bellies of fishes, jump from rocks into seemingly magical pools of water, ride bikes down hills and not have to ride back up, lay in fields of lupines, and we would never want to be anywhere else or with anyone else. And new people would come and would fit in perfectly. And we would greet them with unequaled joy and excitement. And we would never have to say goodbye. We wouldn't need to wear shoes. One day. . .

I feel like I have two weeks off from life. Two weeks to take care of myself. To wash all the things I own--tangible and intangible, to clear my thoughts, to reflect, to write, to make music, to remember the good, to discern the bad, to dream, to enjoy the few days where I have to be nowhere and do nothing.

a new skin. a new soul.

a brief life update.

my life is full. an absolutely good thing.

I am constantly struck by the fact that what seems profoundly important to me seems of no importance whatsoever to most people, and what seems important to so many people seems trivial to me.

I find so much joy in the kids I get to hang out with. There is life in them and in our interactions together that is undeniably a beautiful beautiful thing. They may have the ability to frustrate me until I want to curl up in a ball and hide. They also have the ability to make me laugh harder than anyone else.

I feel so much sadness-so so much sadness-when I hear the pain and sorrow these young children have had to bear in their short lives. I think I daily cry tears of joy and tears of sadness. I feel so much anger and hatred toward the cause(s) of the sorrow. Yet, I'm not quite sure what to do with these emotions, so they just stay inside for now.

And mostly, I feel tired. But, it is a rewarding feeling. When I lay down at night, every muscle in my body knows it has worked hard and my mind wants nothing more than to take a break. Each day feels like two. Each week feels like four. And yet, what seems like yesterday was actually a month ago.


this is home
where I breathe deep,
speak softly, think clearly
where the obstacle of electric lights,
and the distraction of the things
we use to distract ourselves
are made obsolete.
when we speak, we listen
when we see, we look
when we hear, we understand.
where god is not far off int he sky
the divine is here
in your eyes
in the rush of water
in the history of the age-old trees.
where we can laugh without competition
find truth without restraint
and play without inhibition.
this is our home.
yours and mine.
of the sycamore and the locusts
of the orb weavers and lady-beetles
of the treacherous mosquitoes
and the pleasing lichen.
welcome home.

life. violence. hope.

There are a few things I have been wanting to write about on here.

First, a very recent incident.

It is night. I am sitting on the step on the porch outside my front door. I am thinking about how the depth of my relationships at home are quite different from other relationships. I am thinking about how these suburbs tend to create an energy of lifelessness. I feel almost lonely without the stars to comfort me at night. I feel unprotected without any mountains or trees surrounding me. It just feels lifeless. I sit a little more, still looking at the sky. I hear noises behind me on the porch near the light. I look and there is beetle the size of teaspoon crawling around, moths chasing each other, and tiny creatures of all disgusting shapes and sizes congregating beneath the buzzing light. Life! I look away. My eyes catch movement in the dirt in the garden next to me. A worm slides in and out of the soil. Life, movement, breath. Ahhh! Joy. I take a deep breath. How could I have forgotten the tiny creatures and even the organisms? I am looking at a beautifully crafted spider web running from the leaves and branches of the shrub next to me to the wall of the house to another lamp hanging from the house. I think how spiders are such fantastic creatures. I look down and a nose and two beady eyes make contact with my two (probably also beady) eyes. The opossum skitters away with equal surprise and fear that causes me to jump to my feet. We were not expecting to meet one another here! I softly offer an apology to the opossum if he can hear me still, and head inside. I get it. That's enough for tonight.

----------------------------------------------

Another also recent incident. A lesson on violence:

I like animals a lot. Well, that doesn't really suffice. I am enchanted, intrigued, and nearly always in awe of the life and sentience of the animals around me. For the first time in several years, I am fishing on a boat with my dad and brother. I have a reel and rod in hand, and I'm ready to go. In the past, I have despised fishing. I get antsy sitting around waiting. I get frustrated because I feel like I am not doing it right and I don't understand it. And the worst part, I rarely catch any fish. But, this time is different. I am determined to enjoy fishing. I am not antsy. I am prepared to sit around and wait. I think of things differently. I get to enjoy nature, the water, the trees, maybe a good chance to try to learn the different birds in the area. I look at it as a learning experience. (This means a lot of questions from me--sorry dad). So the reel and rod in hand. Now I need bait. The worms. I used to love this when I was little. I would stick my hand in the bucket and catch a minnow and help put it on the hook. It was so fun. Why have things changed? I open the plastic container and choose the worm that will forcefully be offering his life as a sacrifice for...well probably nothing, because I probably won't catch a darn thing. I offer my apologies to him before I turn him on his back and prick the metal point through his skin, into his body, and out the other side. ouch. I toss out the line. Okay, I can do this. Phew. Sigh. "Whit, you have a bite!" Ah, okay. Tug, spin the thingamabobber, keep it tight, you got it. Okay, it's out of the water. Oh, it's beautiful. The bluegill with its lovely yellow belly. Okay, what do I do? Uh, Dad...you touch it! The hook, it look like it hurts! Oh, he swallowed it. I turn my head, I feel the hook in my stomach too, I groan and moan. Ah, it's been out of the water too long. Ah, the hook shouldn't be in his stomach. I'm so sorry. There is blood. I made him bleed. He is back in the water. I'm so sorry. So sorry.

I sit in silence for a few seconds. Breath. Sigh. No tears (but close). I think Sheesh that was violent. Then I think Why can't a just be like everyone else and just catch the damn fish and throw it back? Fishing is not supposed to make me feel this many emotions.
So, I try to be like everyone else. I keep tossing out a line for the next couple hours. I catch several more fish. No more hooks in the stomach, no more blood. A few torn mouths.
I like sitting in the boat. I like watching the birds and listening to their songs. I liked watching that Musky snag the Bluegill from the line. I liked watching the fish jump in and out of the water in a [violent(...yet not necessarily bad violence)] fury of feeding. I like the sun and the clouds. But, I don't think I like killing the worms over and over again. And I don't think I like tricking the fish just to put them right back where I took them from. (I might like it a little more if I was trying to catch my dinner.) There's too much life to just fool around with it...at least for me.

--------------------------------------------------

One more thing I've been wanting to write about. Hope.

About a year and a half ago, I was spending several hours by myself (for lack of a better word) in Yosemite Valley. It was January and I wanted to see the bottom of lower Yosemite Falls as I had never seen them at this time of year. There are no other people on the trail until I get to the bridge in front of the falls. There is a young girl on the bridge and she looks at me curiously as I watch the falls. I keep walking and as I pass her she says the letters "H-O-P-E." I look at her and I say, "excuse me?" thinking I had misunderstood her. She said, "Hope! I said hope." Then she smiled at me kind of smugly then ran off in the opposite direction. I stood there kind of taken aback. I found a nice spot near the stream for the next couple hours. My interaction with that girl has been haunting me for the past year and a half. I guess I am trying to figure out what it means, but I don't want to make it more than it was. However, it is undeniable that the idea of hope has been and continues to run through my mind continuously.

The past couple days, I have been thinking about some of my thoughts regarding hope currently.
Wendell Berry sums up the meaning of hope (or lack of ) for me in the past few months:

Yes, though hope is our duty,
let us live a while without it
to show ourselves we can.
Let us see that, without hope,
we are still well. Let hopelessness
shrink us to our proper size.
Without it we are half as large
as yesterday, and the world
is twice as large. My small
place grows immense as I walk
upon it without hope.
Our springtime rue anemones
as I walk among them, hoping
not even to live, are beautiful
as Eden, and I their kinsman
am immortal in their moment.

I have been taught that hope is necessary, that without it there is no reason to live, no reason for joy. However, I am beginning to think that perhaps hope leads away from living presently to a state that denies who and where we are right now toward something imaginary. We have no agency, power, control over the future. I don't hope that my thirst will be quenched and I can go on living and yet never drink water. I just do it, I drink water. By realizing that we do have power, we do not have to simply "hope." We can do something and we should do something about what we love. And a loss of hope does not make life bad or unbearable. Life is good. We are complex creatures and can hold several emotions at once. As Wendell says, a wonderful thing happens when you give up on hope. You realize you never really needed it.

[a disclaimer: Everything I write is mere jibber-jabber, thoughts, meanderings. I am a hypocrite. Perhaps, and hopefully ;) I will turn my meager philosophies into action once I muster up the courage and get rid of some fear]

Annie Dillard and the Present

Annie Dillard is a genius. I thought I would share some of her thoughts with you.

I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator--our very self-consciousness--is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends.

Catch it if you can. The present is an invisible electron; its lightning path traced faintly on a blackened scree is fleet, and fleeing, and gone.

Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.

Consciousness itself does not hinder living in the present. In fact, it is only to a heightened awareness that the great door to the present opens at all. Even a certain amount of interior verbalization is helpful to enforce the memory of whatever it is that is taking place.

Self-Consciousness, however, does hinder the experience of the present. It is the one instrument that unplugs all the rest. So long as I lose myself in a tree, say, I can scent its leafy breath or estimate its board feet of lumber, I can draw its fruits or boil tea on its branches, and the tree stays tree. But the second I become aware of myself at any of these activities--looking over my own shoulder, as it were--the tree vanishes, uprooted from the spot and flung out of sight as if it had never grown. And time, which had flowed down into the tree bearing new revelations like floating leaves at every moment, ceases. It dams, stills, stagnates.

Self-consciousness is the curse of the city and all that sophistication implies. It is the glimpse of oneself in a storefront window, the unbidden awareness of reactions on the faces of other people--the novelist's world, not the poet's. I've lived there. I remember what the city has to offer: human companionship, major-league baseball, and a clatter of quickening stimulus like a rush from strong drugs that leaves you drained. I remember how you bide your time in the city, and think, if you stop to think, "next year . . . I'll start living; next year . . . I'll start my life." Innocence is a better world.

Innocence sees that this is it, and finds it world enough, and time. Innocence is not the prerogative of infants and puppies, and far less of mountains and fixed stars, which have no prerogatives at all. It is not lost to us; the world is a better place than that. Like any other of the spirit's good gifts, it is there if you want it, free for the asking, as has been stressed by stronger words than mine.

What I call innocence is the spirit's unself-conscious state at any moment of pure devotion to any object. It is at once a receptiveness and total concentration.

These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.

(from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard, 1974, chapter 6 "The Present")

It has been awhile since I've written anything. This semester is coming to end, my second year of college is coming to an end.

Last week, I was camping in Yosemite for spring break, and I think I came to a few realizations and began to understand this semester better.

First, I feel radically different when I am in the mountains, in the forest, away from city life. I feel like I am home (this Greek idea of nostos). Something in my soul and body just feels right, feels at peace. I can slow down in body and mind, I can think clearly, I act more loving, in fact, I feel more capable of loving. And, I don't know if that is just me or if all humans are more at home away from civilization (whether or not we all recognize it). I'm in the woods again this weekend, at a friend's cabin, and I'm reading Thoreau's Walden once again. This just seems how life should be. . .just lazing around on the weekend, waking up slow, drinking a cup of coffee on the porch, walking by the river, playing with the dog, reading in the hammock, watching the birds.

Second, I've realized some of my spiritual frustrations. January started with me having questions about God or the divine or whatever you want to call it. And this caused me major stress and frustration. The thing that confused me most was that other people are okay with not knowing answers about God, they are not deeply frustrated and troubled by not knowing. I think Christianity had pounded it into my mind that knowledge and understanding of the divine is of utmost importance, that knowing God is foundational. More so, I had been told that God loved me and I think this was something that I relied heavily on. Then, thinking that maybe I had just made this god-figure up in my mind, that maybe all I had been told was bullshit, my understanding of the world and my understanding myself was rearranged. And that change, not just the questions themselves, is what caused the stress.

There's so much running through my mind--relational, life, humanity, love, hobbies and distraction, God, meditation, community, education, arrogance, shmarrogance. Maybe I will be able to write something cohesive on it one day. For today, just this smattering.



if this isn't a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon, I don't know what is...

It's a rainy day in southern California, a luxury we rarely come upon. After biking to class this morning, I tried to hide in the library to see if the rain would stop, and eventually, I had to pony up, button my sweater and bike back home in a flurry of shivers. But after changing into dry clothes, making a pot of tea, turning on some lovely rainy-day tunes to accompany the pitter-patter of the rain, and reading a little something, I am comfortably sitting here writing on my blog--what a strange word. I always find myself embarrassed to say it aloud. I like where it came from: a web log. It's like we are all posting our log entries onto a huge web for the general use of spiders everywhere. And while it is a tad embarrassing, the connection and sharing of delights outweighs my discomfort with the word.

Onwards.

I am continually finding myself in an odd state of in-betweenness, and I think I might have an idea for the reason behind this feeling of flux, but it is still brewing and not nearly finished, but I might mention it later. I feel enveloped in this world of in-betweenness in my mind with beliefs about God, humanity, the earth. I feel locked between decisions about what I will be doing this summer, what I will be doing in the fall, and even after that. I have changed my focus of study in school, and I never seem to be sure of decisions. There is little comfort in not knowing. And I don't mind be tossed about with the wind and waves; I understand that happens, but there is this invisible force or pressure, I guess, discouraging being tossed about. Our society seems to value knowing what to do, how to do it, how you want to do it--all for the purpose of progress. And yet, I am feeling more and more pulled away from this desire for progress, especially at the pace I feel pressured to move.

I wanted to put some photos up for the sharing of delights. My roommates and I decided to drive to the Redwoods up near Crescent City, California this past weekend (where I have heard that the trees go right into the ocean...sounds lovely). But, after a few hours of driving, we decided to go to a familiar place that we love. It looks a little like Narnia. There are people we care about there. . . and it cost a lot less to drive there. Here are a couple photos from the weekend: (Mariposa Grove in Yosemite)

I just want to share about my afternoon. . . because it was a lovely afternoon.

A friend and I went to the beach when the sun was going down. We went to the beach because we like running, but we are bored with running on the streets and hills around our apartment. So, at the beach, we put our backpacks down and we just started running up the beach.
I don't have shoes on and I feel so free. The sand on my bare feet, and the tide comes up and my feet get wet and I splash around. We run, and I feel good. Like I can run a marathon. I feel alive and I feel free. It smells like the ocean, the air feels like the ocean, and running feels like the perfect thing to be doing.
We run until the beach is all rocks, and we can't run any further. Growing up surrounded by land, I have spent very little time by the sea. So, we explore the tide pools. I am sure this is an incredible normal thing to do for people who live by the ocean, but I was in awe. The tide pools are breathtaking--life is just bustling. Anemones everywhere. It just looks like dirt on the rocks, but you touch them and they move... a clear sign of life. The mussels just cover the rocks and they are so strong. so strong. and a bunch of other stuff I don't know the names of. I just stared and poked my fingers and oooooed and awwwed for as long as my feet could stand the pokey rocks.
Then we ran back to our backpacks, took off a layer of clothes, and jumped in the chilly ocean. We are alive. The sand on my toes, the breath in my lungs, the water hitting against my skin as it breaks, the ocean sucking my body under and then gasping for air as I come, the laughter and joy shared with a dear friend. I am alive.


. . . speaking of oceans . . .

A friend and I were laying in the sun on the grass the other day. She looks at me and says, "If you were a part of the earth--like a feature of the earth, what would you be?" We both gave our answers and chatted about it for a while, but we both agreed we would definitely not want to be the ocean. We weren't even sure that a person could be like the ocean. There is something about it that is absolutely terrifying to me. It is mysterious, and it can seem peaceful, but it is strong and powerful. I know so little about it. It's size is enough to terrify me. And when I was swimming today and at one point I got pulled under, I was reminded of the mysterious and fear-inducing creature I was in...but at the same time, enraptured by its beauty and peace.

These past 15 years of schooling have taught me to do one thing very well: to obey and to be afraid to disobey.

I write papers in which every paragraph is outlined for me, and I want nothing more than to choose one thing from that paper and write a book about that one thing. Rather I have to cover dozens upon dozens of subjects and I must only use a certain amount of pages and only a certain author and I must be done by tomorrow at 5 pm and blahbidy blahbidy blah.

obedience. and I continue to obey. . . for fear of bad grades? what are grades but one man or woman's judgment of my ideas? No. They are not judging my ideas. They are judging how well I can repeat their own personal ideas and beliefs in my own words.

I don't want to do this anymore. obey. learn things I have heard thousands of times when there are so many things I don't know. Do exactly what they tell me f0r the purpose of pleasing them.

It is tiring. It is making me lifeless. thoughtless. It makes me feel weak that I cannot replicate what they want me to. "I have other ideas, I swear. Good thoughts, too. I just am not capable of replicating what you want because I am not you. I am not you. I do not share the same beliefs as you.. I do not share the same experiences. We have read different books and met different people."

The university is creating so many docile, obedient young men and women.

from clouds to cactus

So, I'm back in civilization after an entire year in a small secluded community in the Sierra. I went from a community of about 40 friends to about 5,200 people (mostly strangers). And I am so overwhelmed.

Problem 1: I cannot focus on anything because there is so much going on all the time. If I am having a conversation with someone, countless people walk by and interrupt the conversation, so every conversation feels disjointed. There is so much sensual stimulation. So much to look at and hear, and it makes me unfocused. Even my mind seems to be moving 10 times faster than usual. I try so hard to think of only one thing at a time, but so many other things pop up in my mind.

Problem 2: I am at a Protestant Christian school, and I'm not all that sure how I feel about Protestant Christianity right now. I just have so many questions that going to chapel 3 times a week and attending bible classes 5 days a week turns my mind into a substance similar to cottage cheese. I dropped a bible class today and replaced it with world geography. Being in a room full of Christians raising their hands in worship and offering affirmative grunts during prayer makes me more uncomfortable than I've been in a long time. I stay after classes to talk with professors about my questions. I talk to my friends. I read lots and lots. I take time alone to think. and I just get more and more confused.

Problem 3: For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no desire to go to class or do homework. Usually I am excited to learn more, but not now. I am excited about one class. The teacher is a wonderfully radical feminist and I am completely enchanted by her. I hope we become friends...but other than that class, the rest all feel kind of ridiculous.

But...there are some great things going on too:

1. I live in an apartment with 2 other girls. We go shopping at George's and buy cheap, tasty produce and grains. And we eat dinner together and have people over for dinner. And we drink lots of tea. And there is lots of art on the walls and little, shimmery Christmas lights. And we struggle with being human together, and we laugh together. we laugh almost as much as we drink tea. and we are a long walk from campus, which is just perfect.

2. The foothills look so pretty. It is almost 80 degrees and sunny, and I wear a tank top during the day, and it feels so lovely. The foothills are green and I feel like they are surrounding me and protecting me here. I kind of feel like they are giving me a big, happy hug every morning. And the tip of the mountains are dusted in snow at the tops, and they look mystical.

3. I have on a new homemade beanie, and it is keeping my head warm. The window is open and a nice breeze is blowing in. The sky is clear, and the moon and Venus are watching over me. Sigur Ros is playing in the background. And my tummy is happy from a tasty lentil soup and red tea. and no matter how bitter and confused I am, I am still incredibly happy to be alive. What a blessing it is to be alive, to be able to feel something, to feel love, to feel discomfort, to believe and disbelieve.

4. My friends challenge me a lot. Friends near and friends far. About reality, about truth, about God, about humans, about animals, about sex, about gender, about good, and evil and money and happiness and ... everything really.

5. I'm going on top of a mountain on Saturday. Yessssss!

I have thought for a long time now that if, some day, the increasing efficiency for the technique of destruction finally causes our species to disappear from the earth, it will not be cruelty that will be responsible for our extinction and still less, of course, the indignation that cruelty awakens and the reprisals and vengeance that it brings upon itself . . . but the docility, the lack of responsibility of the modern man, his base subservient acceptance of every common decree. The horrors that we have seen, the still greater horrors we shall presently see, are not signs that rebels, insubordinate, untamable men are increasing in number throughout the world, but rather that there is a constant increase in the number of obedient, docile men.

George Bernanos, French novelist and journalist and man