Signing off for a while. There are no words, no thoughts, no images or any other means of communication to adequately express how I feel. Rather than be plagued by the desire to relieve the urge to express myself, I'm just going to take a break.
Sayonara
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Simply a Paint Job
My mother and I have been working to paint her bedroom the past few days. Move all the furniture, dust everything, tape the floor boards, tape around the windows, tape the ceiling, tape around the doors. Primer. Let it dry. PAINT.
We finished this afternoon around one o'clock, after a few spills on the carpet, a few spills on ourselves, and a Lyle Lovett marathon.
While the work itself was somewhat tiring, constantly bending over to load your brush, going up and down step-ladders, etc., I realized when we finished that I had spent a few days in that room bonding with my mother, and it was good. We'd laughed a lot, talked a lot, heaved and hoed a lot, and completed a house project by ourselves (with perhaps the help of Wal-Mart and Fred's). We didn't take a road trip to the mountains; we didn't spend a day at the beach; we didn't go mother-daughter shopping at the Mall of America. We just threw on some old clothes and got a little sweaty. But Reader, that's what made it a special time for me. I'm leaving for college in about two months, the last one out of the house. It's no longer the big vacations that I enjoy spending with my mother. It's the simple things. The little things. Tonight even, we went out to dinner together as a sort of last-minute celebration for finishing her room and, she said, as a thank you to me. We had a really wonderful time! We talked and laughed for over an hour as we sat and ate pizza and pasta at Painturo's. It was a perfect night. The kind of night I'll miss when I leave home, but be thankful for the memories.
We finished this afternoon around one o'clock, after a few spills on the carpet, a few spills on ourselves, and a Lyle Lovett marathon.
While the work itself was somewhat tiring, constantly bending over to load your brush, going up and down step-ladders, etc., I realized when we finished that I had spent a few days in that room bonding with my mother, and it was good. We'd laughed a lot, talked a lot, heaved and hoed a lot, and completed a house project by ourselves (with perhaps the help of Wal-Mart and Fred's). We didn't take a road trip to the mountains; we didn't spend a day at the beach; we didn't go mother-daughter shopping at the Mall of America. We just threw on some old clothes and got a little sweaty. But Reader, that's what made it a special time for me. I'm leaving for college in about two months, the last one out of the house. It's no longer the big vacations that I enjoy spending with my mother. It's the simple things. The little things. Tonight even, we went out to dinner together as a sort of last-minute celebration for finishing her room and, she said, as a thank you to me. We had a really wonderful time! We talked and laughed for over an hour as we sat and ate pizza and pasta at Painturo's. It was a perfect night. The kind of night I'll miss when I leave home, but be thankful for the memories.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Under the cloud of medication
And the memories of where my mind has been
I sometimes forget
How extraordinary life is.
In moments of regret
When the churning waves in my brain subside
And I need something more to compensate
And to help heal pieces of my mind
I feel guilt
I feel insufficient for my life.
But on days like this
When the sun shines and my family is dear
When we have good times
And when the wind blows my hair just how I like
I remember that the things my mind needs
Are not a necessity.
Still, I wonder,
How much of this is real?
How much of this feeling did I authenticate
In the bowers of the bone cage round my brain
Am I really okay?
Is life really this simple?
And I struggle to differentiate
Between falsehood and reality.
But does it even matter,
If perception is real,
Whether we live a false bliss
Or grip the tethers of how we feel?
Today has as much beauty as the last
Today has as much divinity in its existence
Today will tomorrow be the past
Today is the future we wished for without hesitance.
And the memories of where my mind has been
I sometimes forget
How extraordinary life is.
In moments of regret
When the churning waves in my brain subside
And I need something more to compensate
And to help heal pieces of my mind
I feel guilt
I feel insufficient for my life.
But on days like this
When the sun shines and my family is dear
When we have good times
And when the wind blows my hair just how I like
I remember that the things my mind needs
Are not a necessity.
Still, I wonder,
How much of this is real?
How much of this feeling did I authenticate
In the bowers of the bone cage round my brain
Am I really okay?
Is life really this simple?
And I struggle to differentiate
Between falsehood and reality.
But does it even matter,
If perception is real,
Whether we live a false bliss
Or grip the tethers of how we feel?
Today has as much beauty as the last
Today has as much divinity in its existence
Today will tomorrow be the past
Today is the future we wished for without hesitance.
It's Church Day...
Today is Sunday, May the 27th, year 2012. Churches across the nation are packed, preachers standing in robes and suits behind their sacred pulpit lecturing on the love of Jesus Christ and the depravity of the world. Sanctuary lighting is being controlled by some team of behind-the-scene men, carefully dimming the lights as the messenger of God speaks gravely about Hell, and then bringing them into full magnitude of brightness as the choir sings triumphantly, "Hallelujah!"
Performance 101.
When Jesus spoke to people about Heaven and love and sacrifice, I don't really get the feeling that he had James and John working the lighting somewhere and Matthew and Luke singing baritone behind the crowds to provide a nice "mood setting." I may be wrong, I wasn't there.
So this morning, rather than attending a nice performance, I opted to sleep in. Heathen, I know. I'm preparing myself to go to Hell. One is a sinner, after all, if he or she is not a dutiful church-going Christian. In fact, if you're reading this now instead of sitting in church, you too should prepare yourself for fire and brimstone. (Unless you're Seventh Day Adventist. They get a pass for Sunday.)
Ahhh....Am I going over the top here? Should I reign in my sarcasm a bit? After all, I do have many good memories and LOTS of wonderful relationships as a result of growing up in church. I really do. Most of my dearest friends I met in the church nursery as a child and grew up with, going to church camps together and spending school breaks on mission trips. I've had some wonderful years in that environment. What bothers me now as I grow older is simply the ritualistic approach that I see permeating the halls and sanctuaries of churches. So much is dependent on what needs to be done, how to bring someone to Jesus, ways to improve your testimony. Now, some of my issues with these approaches stems simply from a difference in belief, not necessarily a disdain for the practice itself...though perhaps a bit.
May I take a moment to digress? I feel so relaxed right now. Sitting up in my bed with a warm blanket across my lap, doing what I love -- writing. I don't feel the Sunday morning pressure of being on a time crunch to find a parking spot, tearing through my closet trying to find something to wear -- all parts of the ritual that I don't so much care for.
If I'm going to attend church, I pull on an old long-sleeved shirt and slip on some overalls. I throw my hair up in a bun and tie a bandanna around my head. I grab an old satchel and place inside a water bottle and Leaves of Grass. I head to the back door where I don a jacket, depending on the weather, and then slip my feet into some boots. Off to the woods. Nature serves my soul. So willingly. So inviting.
I do not condemn the church. The church itself, after all, is the body of Christ. The people. But I think we've lost so much truth. We're not focusing anymore on absorbing the love of God and loving other people. We focus on whether the TV screens are operating correctly, if the coffee stations are well-kept, and if the nurseries have child-proof locks and gates for liability reasons. Damn it all, people. Tear down the church building and gather in a field! Forget the legalities, those man-made encumbrances that structure your philosophies! Damn it all, people...
Performance 101.
When Jesus spoke to people about Heaven and love and sacrifice, I don't really get the feeling that he had James and John working the lighting somewhere and Matthew and Luke singing baritone behind the crowds to provide a nice "mood setting." I may be wrong, I wasn't there.
So this morning, rather than attending a nice performance, I opted to sleep in. Heathen, I know. I'm preparing myself to go to Hell. One is a sinner, after all, if he or she is not a dutiful church-going Christian. In fact, if you're reading this now instead of sitting in church, you too should prepare yourself for fire and brimstone. (Unless you're Seventh Day Adventist. They get a pass for Sunday.)
Ahhh....Am I going over the top here? Should I reign in my sarcasm a bit? After all, I do have many good memories and LOTS of wonderful relationships as a result of growing up in church. I really do. Most of my dearest friends I met in the church nursery as a child and grew up with, going to church camps together and spending school breaks on mission trips. I've had some wonderful years in that environment. What bothers me now as I grow older is simply the ritualistic approach that I see permeating the halls and sanctuaries of churches. So much is dependent on what needs to be done, how to bring someone to Jesus, ways to improve your testimony. Now, some of my issues with these approaches stems simply from a difference in belief, not necessarily a disdain for the practice itself...though perhaps a bit.
May I take a moment to digress? I feel so relaxed right now. Sitting up in my bed with a warm blanket across my lap, doing what I love -- writing. I don't feel the Sunday morning pressure of being on a time crunch to find a parking spot, tearing through my closet trying to find something to wear -- all parts of the ritual that I don't so much care for.
If I'm going to attend church, I pull on an old long-sleeved shirt and slip on some overalls. I throw my hair up in a bun and tie a bandanna around my head. I grab an old satchel and place inside a water bottle and Leaves of Grass. I head to the back door where I don a jacket, depending on the weather, and then slip my feet into some boots. Off to the woods. Nature serves my soul. So willingly. So inviting.
I do not condemn the church. The church itself, after all, is the body of Christ. The people. But I think we've lost so much truth. We're not focusing anymore on absorbing the love of God and loving other people. We focus on whether the TV screens are operating correctly, if the coffee stations are well-kept, and if the nurseries have child-proof locks and gates for liability reasons. Damn it all, people. Tear down the church building and gather in a field! Forget the legalities, those man-made encumbrances that structure your philosophies! Damn it all, people...
Some Forgotten Insight...again
Once again, I woke up this morning and found these questions and ideas written on my notepad. Have fun with it.
Jesus is true. The world just fucked Him up.
I believe in Jesus. But damn, I am not like these people. But I love Jesus.
Damn beautiful stars...gospel fucking stars. Life. Shining. Beautiful stars. Crowns of Heaven. Stars in the universe.
My hands are cold, my words are warm; where can you touch me?
Karma, babe. I just hiccuped and lost the period. It popped up later. period.
I can alter the universe.
I can pull off anything.
Dexterity.
Roller coaster tips the wave and glides away.
I am on fire.
Where did you come from? In birth or life, in a gift wrapped with lace or middle-aged in death? I want to know these things?
Cave in the ice. Crave the ice that hangs freely where it falls.
I am holding my mind on trial.
There is a divide between words and thought. I wish I could mend it beautifully.
Tango till we're sore...
I am made of nectro eluerons. Get at me.
I love you all. You.
Paradise will fall, and we will be down with hell, but later capitalized into our proper cases.
And I swallow the silk of the stars, blazing into light years of grace.
Walking through life sucks. Run while your knees are fuckin' young! =D
That was a good positive one, eh? =) Much love, my dear.
Spiraling stairs of tangerines must be fun.....I swear in my head that rhymes.
There are always lights left on for me, lights to guide my body home, lights to keep me warm, death and life lights. Night lights...Yep, in the hallway outside my door. We're good.
I am sparrow. Don't mock me. Like a bird. Di'j'ya catch what I did there?
If the stars live for an eternity but burn out, then is eternity an everlasting cycle of no rebirths?
Jesus is true. The world just fucked Him up.
I believe in Jesus. But damn, I am not like these people. But I love Jesus.
Damn beautiful stars...gospel fucking stars. Life. Shining. Beautiful stars. Crowns of Heaven. Stars in the universe.
My hands are cold, my words are warm; where can you touch me?
Karma, babe. I just hiccuped and lost the period. It popped up later. period.
I can alter the universe.
I can pull off anything.
Dexterity.
Roller coaster tips the wave and glides away.
I am on fire.
Where did you come from? In birth or life, in a gift wrapped with lace or middle-aged in death? I want to know these things?
Cave in the ice. Crave the ice that hangs freely where it falls.
I am holding my mind on trial.
There is a divide between words and thought. I wish I could mend it beautifully.
Tango till we're sore...
I am made of nectro eluerons. Get at me.
I love you all. You.
Paradise will fall, and we will be down with hell, but later capitalized into our proper cases.
And I swallow the silk of the stars, blazing into light years of grace.
Walking through life sucks. Run while your knees are fuckin' young! =D
That was a good positive one, eh? =) Much love, my dear.
Spiraling stairs of tangerines must be fun.....I swear in my head that rhymes.
There are always lights left on for me, lights to guide my body home, lights to keep me warm, death and life lights. Night lights...Yep, in the hallway outside my door. We're good.
I am sparrow. Don't mock me. Like a bird. Di'j'ya catch what I did there?
If the stars live for an eternity but burn out, then is eternity an everlasting cycle of no rebirths?
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