once again,

where is my ocean?
homestead,
why are you so many footsteps
from this adolescence i'm cemented to?
if i had payed more attention in class,
i would have learned that
sand is the product of erosion,
and in my childishness i would ask why
i am not soft
and full of comfort like the ocean's frame.
why i cannot hold sun beam memories
like the beaches.
it is then i think my future,
or a kind old moon-mother would ask
what experience i think i have
to declare myself weathered.
when i show her my diaries
she will laugh and call
the holes in my socks fairytales.
so i will cry,
as all children do when proved wrong,
but she will hold me gently
and say,
"baby,
it is not that you are not brave enough
or big enough to hold this heat,
but you don't yet understand
that the ocean is colder than she seems,
and so long as you intend
to call salt air home,
please realize that you will have
bigger tsunamis to face,"
my eyes will have grown cherry orchards
without the greenery by now,
she pulls me tighter,
"but hush those aching lungs,
love,
and do not toss out
the tidepools that brought you here.
if you really believe in growing up,
God will erase sinking (and anchors)
from every language
you are going to learn,
little one."

i'll mail your letter today.

heartbreak,

You’ve got eyes like
you and your sisters shower too much these days
because you believe it’ll
wash out the fog.
Your hair breathes
nothing but swing sets and perspiration
and ends that split
the night dad slammed the door
behind his way out.
Your stomach doesn’t cry
it knows that it has
no right to complain
when other pieces of you
own so much more hunger
than it could ever imagine.
Do your ears hear your face trying to run?
It always looks like
that last anticipation before
the sprint,
the bolt.

but where you live, there are no thunderstorms.
No,
there are only fat tears
kissing checkerboards,
making rain sounds
without the light.

Do your legs know they weren’t actually built to carry this much?
Have your feet ever stopped long enough to know
what tired is?
Your mouth sings a silence
louder than I’ve ever heard,
and I know what air sounds like
after the fire’s been sucked out of it.


Children were meant to laugh.

i'm homesick for the ocean so bad.

old journals and why i love ross carper.

because two years, eleven months, and four hours ago - i used to record times along with dates, now i do neither - i was sitting in the well room of first pres, ross was on the stool in the middle of the room telling us/me that he didn't think at that moment that jesus could make everything ok. his mom had been diagnosed with cancer, he was supposed to give us a talk/sermon/thing for westport, so he told us the truth. that he didn't know it would be ok. people don't tell other people things like that. especially leaders. leaders don't tell "their kids" that they doubt all this. that they think that all of this might not be true. but everyone does sometimes. and ross didn't bullshit us.

thank god for the honest. without them i would have nothing.

choices, the sky, journals, and treasure.

in some ways, this trip is nice and what i needed. it's certainly much less stressful than a trip to washington d.c. don't get me wrong: it's definitely disappointing that we don't get to go, but this is certainly not a terrible alternative. i had a difficult time near the end of this quarter, i blame the winter blues. i lost a ton of steam and motivation. i have senioritis a year and a half early. wonderful.

i can see the stars tonight. i haven't seen the stars in quite a while.

it seems like i may have to choose between westport and kokanee. when it comes down to it, kokanee will probably win out. but i will miss westport and the ocean so much. my friends know that i love kids, so much so that they will call me at ten at night- having met me three days prior- to ask me to babysit at seven the next morning. and not going to westport makes me want to cry. but the group going to kokanee is arguably a much... better?... environment for me to be in. i don't quite know what i mean by that, but then again i do. hum. it's certainly a much more affirming environment, and the not lack but minimum of high schoolers makes for little (or no, actually) drama, except for the occasional fit due to pms. c'est la vie.

i'm quite mellow right now. and sort of low. my allergies are miserable and it rains a lot over here. but i get to see the ocean. and the stars. the glorious, glorious stars. and that, at least, is a blessing beyond what i could ask. it's interesting how much i love the sky. it's my favorite part of creation, followed closely by the ocean. sunsets, sunrises, stars, blue, white clouds, anger at dark clouds that cover it, black, pink, orange... i suppose the best thing in all creation for me is colorful sky over the ocean. like WP. and it's not that it could prove god's existence for me. it somehow bothers me when people say that. i feel like it trivializes it. it probably doesn't. that's me with a superiority complex. but the only word is glory. then leave it. say nothing. speechless is the greatest place to be.

perhaps my only real gift is words. think about it: the two options i want to make a living from are: 1. talking. (what do pastors do?) or 2. writing and performing. (hence, performance poet.) so, when i find something that blows my mind...

i think the only appropriate response is silence.

which is funny, because here i am, talking about it. trivializing it. so enough of that. there's that for what it is.

i took a four hour nap today. sleep may not be for quite a while. i bought a new journal at powell's, but it's interesting. it has a title - it's called "wreck this journal." it's pretty much fabulous because each page has unpredictable instructions of what to do with the journal. many pages include instructions to make a paper chain or airplane with this page, and so on. tie a string to the journal and go for a walk. climb up high and drop the journal. write a page of good thoughts. write a page of careless thoughts. and so on. hoorah for powell's.

i am working on the meaning of discipleship in terms of following. "there is no following without leaving." i certainly believe that, but i don't know what i need to leave. 'sell all and give to the poor' simply means give up your treasure. i need to find my treasure before i can give it away. i don't pretend to think i don't have it. in fact, i theorize it may be so deep-seeded in me that i can't even recognize it as above christ.

something to contemplate. and work on. i'm going to walk to the bathroom and look at the stars some more.