train of thought

i bought new socks today. they have pretty patterns and there is no cold air finding its way through an intricate pattern of holes to reach my toes.

have you ever listened to the siren of an ambulance go off nearby for a minute or so before realizing that its a sound effect in the song you're listening to?

i think i've had the same thing of foil for almost two years. i really thought i used more foil than that.

tasty combination: cheddar goldfish, craisins and lightly salted whole almonds.

yes, i eat things off of the floor if they have just recently fallen.

last time i made meat lasagna, i forgot the meat. i shall not make this mistake again.

J. Alfred melancholy

what is my "prime"
but the height of unawareness of myself,
making it seem the most happy time
before realizing those things not visible through these rose-colored glasses

"oh do not ask 'what is it?'
let us go and make our visit."

why shouldn't i speak of time
all poets speak of time and how rapidly it is passing
on a wing'ed chariot, according to andrew marvel
and so we make the most of it

"that is not what i meant at all,
that is not it at all."

there is a sadness in the realization
a sadness in these moments spent before the mirror
pinching and tweaking
then startled back in somber recognition
that i am wasting time in meaningless frustration

"i have measured out my life in coffee spoons."

to imagined a white-haired mother
an aging father
to take my place as an adult, calling the names of my parents
in that tone...it is
unbearable

"it is impossible to say just what i mean!"

how do we move forward
with such crippling reality sniffing about our door ways?
yet we seem to be unhindered
we still live furiously

"would it have been worthwhile..."

i remember the heightened sense of things
its prickling sensation, its spreading warmth that starts
from deep within
and i miss it like a friend

"full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse...at times indeed, almost ridiculous."

we gain, we grow but i feel the losses
i tell myself that there is joy in every stage
but the joy of youth taunts me and puts distance
between us

"i grow old ... i grow old."

ignorance is a comfortable armchair
innocence its footrest
i cannot pretend anymore to lounge there in
the warmth of the sun
i have discovered that it is evening and i cannot seem to believe a lie
a wish, perhaps

"i do not think that they will sing to me."

why do we write if not to give ourselves hope?
this aching absence in our chests
is the voice of wisdom
we only feel the emptiness because we were designed
to have it filled

"till human voices wake us, and we drown."

while watching the sun set

i see you sun
i see you descending
i climb higher and higher following the moon,
ancient and stark in its fullness against the night sky
higher and higher
and you unfold before me like a secret
you are falling
descending
your great light
spreads across the tops of the mountains
a last burning exhale,
thrown into the air with boldness,
making them glow as if they are ablaze
and yet this burning is so peaceful
i find myself wanting to be consumed by it
but also feel taken over by gentleness, becoming gentle
like these delicate, soft colors.
how softly the trees stand against the gathering darkness.
they are serene,
un-wanting, accepting exactly where they are.
they softly sway.
they ask for nothing
and how could they?
they sit here at the top of this mountain,
they watch you descend
they watch you burn the mountains and the hills on your way down
why would they ask for anything more?
what more could they get?
i wish i were a tree and
content with my view.


you are breathtaking.
you steal my breath
and my words.
and i am grateful to finally be wordless

grateful
to be wordless while i watch you descend.


it is never final.
it is reoccurring, and your ascent
is just as breathtaking
and your consistency is comforting.

knowing isnt helping

i know i know
im not the only one
suffering
and in the line-up
my suffering hasnt even
qualified on the forms
for emergency
i know i know i wish
i knew
i know im not acting like
i know
i know im acting alone like
no one knows the trouble ive seen like
no one could ever understand
like woe woe
oh woe is me!
i know my suffering doesnt compare
to yours
and i should suck it up and
move the hell on
but im hurting so deeply and telling myself
its not as bad as so-and-so
hasnt been as healing as i thought it would
so please help me gain some perspective
and please love me when i dont have any.

reader's warning: just skip this one altogether

i exit my facebook account to the log-in screen and catch a glimpse of the image of a smartphone with a caption that reads "leaving facebook? try facebook mobile!" even when i try to get away, it tells me that i don't have to! there's a better way to fuel addiction! all these ways to be "connected." i am so "connected"...only to find that i'm really not that connected at all.

i was doing very well these past weeks. on top of lesson plans and grading, being focused. getting stuff done. motivated. after a long weekend i find myself back to square one: distracted and filling my time with social sites and blogging. i dont drown my sorrows or channel my uncertainties into work. i find that i just dont want to do it at all.

"your religion is what you do in your solitude."

i guess facebook is my religion. yuck.

previously, i was working on answering some questions about Elie Wiesel's memoir Night. i'm going to be making my kids write about their experience with the book, and i want to have thought through my own questions first (well, i got them from somewhere else, actually). so i ended up thinking about how we humans end up hurting each other no matter how hard we try not to. i also starting thinking about how we all seem to have this disease of wanting to be better than someone else. the two are, obviously, connected. one of the questions asks:

Could something like the Holocaust happen today? Discuss more recent genocides, such as the situation in Rwanda in the 1990s and the ongoing conflict in Sudan. Does Night teach us anything about how we can react to these atrocities?

i wish i could say, "no!" but these days, i feel so attuned to the innate brokenness under our "put-together" selves that i just cant. as long as there is greed, self-protection, insecurity, selfishness (the list goes on and on), id have to say "sure. something like that could happen again." to some degree, it happened in cambodia, in rwanda, in darfur.

and in some respects, we're doing that kind of thing now: deciding that there's a hierarchy, that we're better than someone else and we have a right to oppress them. that the rules of humanity don't apply to those who are less than us. gays and lesbians come to mind, by the way.

here i am sounding so self-righteous and enlightened. see what i'm talking about? i say that i am "attuned to the innate brokenness under our 'put together' selves" but what i mean is that i am "attuned to the innate brokenness under your 'put together' self."

i actually dont see my own stuff at all. maybe that's what im trying to do this lenten season? repent. realize brokenness in myself as well as the world around me. its been difficult so far. i find myself unwilling to listen or be quiet and reflective. i find myself unwilling to believe that there's anything wrong with me at all even while clutching at my gaping wounds. i am very willing to believe that if i give up this "thing" for 40 days, if i fast regularly (not even cheating on sundays!), the slate will be washed clean and i can go back to functioning as normal. independent and alone.