everything i needed to know about giving i learned from a turkish bellboy and a mexican cardboard village

it's that time of year where everyone is buying and buying and they don't know why. stores are overcrowded and messy. shoppers are kinda stupid stopping in the middle of the isle stripping little Susy down to see if the pants are going to be long enough next year. driver's are all on the holiday version of road rage.... Seasons Greetings to you too, you no good Fudge Eating Santa's Helper!!!

i heard one complaint this year from a mom who said, "well, no one needs anything!" last year i was pretty sickened by the gifting and holiday glimmering and the smiling and the cheesy movies and the glib seasonal songs. i didn't ask for gifts but i received some incredibly thoughtful and lovely ones. a jane austen cookbook, flannery o'connor books, dickens books and journals, an everyday tea pot, red tea towels. simple gifts of things i love.

but this year, i want to buy gifts. i am a whirl of ideas for someone in particular, and can't wait to shop. and it's not about the buying or the gifts themselves. it's the excitement of giving. i love it. not the money part or the material part. it's the thoughtful part i love especially when it's about love. when i lived in amsterdam, i had to send home gifts to my family making sure the package arrived before Christmas day. it was my first one apart from them. and so i searched for something for each one of them that was special and that tied me to them, that i could tie significance to. and then i wrote a Christmas letter to go with each gift. for my sister, i found jewelry. in her note, i talked the beauty i saw in her. my brother was on a new journey and was learning much through tolkien's books; i found a journal bilbo style.

this year we have wisely budgeted, set limits. i think i could buy and buy, again not for material wealth. for generosity. in 1997 i went to adana, turkey to take an apology from Christians to Muslims on the 900th anniversary of the crusades. there in adana, our bellhop invited us generously to his house. we took up his offer and i cannot begin to tell you the feast we had. i have not seen more food at the wealthiest tables here in austin, and i've sat at a few. we could have eaten for days on what was provided that one single meal. it was overwhelming to the senses. it was generosity beyond any i had encountered anywhere. we ate and ate large portions of cheeses and yogurt and kebab and dolmas and olives and fresh vegetables and pide and fresh fig, tea and coffee and ayran ( i could go on....) then he took us to the beach for turkish dancing and soda and cookies. to use a coined phrase, it was a feast fit for a king. and it was just for six measly americans wanting to bridge hundreds of years of hurt, still learning about gratefulness.

a month after the bellboy roasted us, some other friends came through the town hoping to meet with him. he couldn't have them over; he had spent a month's salary on our single meal.

going way back to 1990, i was on a missions trip in mexico to a cardboard village, helping run a children's Bible program. at the end of the week, the same thing. the village spent a month's salary to feed our team, the best and most humbling meal i had ever feasted on. once again, a third world country out gives the wealthiest nation in the world.

to only be half as generous is something i strive for. the least of these gave more than i can ever comprehend.

freely you have received, freely give.

bring it on.

phantastes

i love the fall. it is my favorite season though we reeeeally don't get much of a true fall here in austin. i love fall foods. i love falling leaves. i love long lusty breezes streaming through the screen. fall reminds me of good folk music. warm colors. piping bowls of quinoa and lentils. flavorful soups embracing my taste buds. baking anything and everything from cornbread to gluten free butterscotch brownies (we even made gluten free monster cookies the other day!). cuddly clothes. crunchy footsteps. overcast days. soothing midnight rain.

i wish i could wear sweaters in the fall. i wish we had more colors, more trees. i wish it were crispier outside and i could see my breath in the morning mist. i wish there were stacks and stacks of leaves to jump in. my ideal fall day would be with neal, sipping warm drinks, curled up in a big reading chair with a gi-normous book in hand, cool outdoor air whistling through open windows, mellow music, cozy sweaters, grey skies, all while viewing rolling hills carpeted in oranges and reds and browns and greens.

but we're in central texas. where it's still in the 80s and 90s (the day after i wrote this it dropped to 64! yahoo!). and autumn comes in december. right before christmas. and the trees are pretty short. and the breezes have been sparse (though it has been deliciously grey lately). and wearing a sweater sounds sweltering. and that is the reality of it all.

every november 300 million monarchs end their migratory journey in the south central mountains of mexico. 300 million. something truly magnificent. awe inspiring. breathtaking. a hail storm of monarchs. something out of myth. phantastical, in a way. i can't imagine being able to see it and would probably pinch myself as my jaw dropped to the ground.

the cool winds will come. there will be some color. and i will find ways to make this a true fall. there is a new reality to this fall. it's unexpected, a bit dream-like and i ocassionally have to pinch myself to believe it. i get to share this fall with you, a man i admire and love. and that is just as real as 300 million monarchs in the mountains of michoacan in november.

(wsfa) peace, love and understanding.

never criticize a man until you walk a mile in his moccasins

i have felt judged lately. a lot. i've been criticized. and i know i have judged (and criticized) as well. something i've noticed in this process of relating with others is that the less you know someone, the less sympathy you have for them. the one thing about a good pair of shoes is that they are worn into and molded to fit your foot, they know your foot. they follow the curves and arches just perfectly. and they fit your unique foot well, so well it's like... putting on an old shoe. it's true, this old proverbial wisdom. to be sympathetic is to have a close understanding with someone's feelings. empathy is to recognize someone's emotions or state of mind.

please walk a mile first. walk a mile.

when prophesies cease,

i read something the other day that was one of the best definitions of love i have seen in a long time. love: a selfless expression of good. when i hold back love, it is usually in selfishness. fears, self preservation, pride. you know, the main motivators that keep so many of us inhibited. love protects... it means protection at the cost of my pride, at the cost of lookin' good. love trusts.... letting go of preserving me. love hopes.... taking risks to let go of fear. love perseveres... keeps on keepin' on, even (especially) when it's not about me. it will not/does not look like what my mind conceives it to be (man, i am so glad of that); in fact my conception of it is completely absurd and imperfect. this one thing i know-- love never fails. the author of love tells me so.

St. Frances De Sales said, "You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so, you learn to love by loving. All those who think to learn in any other way deceive themselves."

and now, to love.

on politics and pansies

august 26, 1920, united states. the 19th amendment. it was 1920 before women had the right to vote, before women had a voice in politics thanks to the ratification by tennessee (i love those volunteers); much suffering by the advocates; and the dedication of elizabeth cady stanton and susan b. anthony, alice paul, and many others. i have a desire to not take this right for granted. i cannot tell you what these women went through in order to get their voices heard, in order for their future generations to have a voice as well; and it wasn't even 100 years ago.

i don't know who i am going to vote for yet though my thoughts are already leaning one way. if i had my way i might vote for michelle obama and cindy mccain. they're pretty incredible women. i actually have sympathies with both parties/ all parties.

i don't like mud slinging. i don't like when others criticize beyond logic and use manipulatively flowery or overly scathing language (something the candidates do as well and HAVE been doing since Andrew Jackson and before). i just want the facts. i don't want to be manipulated. i want to make a clear choice based on personal convictions as i weigh each candidate's party and platform.

i like that i get to choose. i like that WE ALL get to choose. i like that i have the right to choose. i like that many have differing opinions. life would be boring without it. free-thought.... what a wonderful thing. please celebrate it today and use your mind.

miracles in stride

january 2008 i got sick with an unknown, confusing illness, and by february i couldn't walk 1/2 a mile without intense pain. in fact, one day it took me 30-45 minutes to walk that 1/2 mile. by march, i walked a mile, BUT i was slower than a turtle tripping through jello with snow shoes on. really. i mean, really. for someone who used to dream of being a race-walker and had a fast paced one mile walk going, this was devastating. in the spring, i couldn't even walk through a grocery store or a mall without someone commenting on the "speed" of my stride.

but yesterday, yesterday i walked a 5-freakin-K. in an hour. i. walked. a 5.K.

you can credit diagnosis, celebrex, doctors, modern medicine, support and love, faith. i think it's a mixture of all of them. but mostly i think it's a miracle. i'm in pain today, but ohhhh, how i am thankful. my God still moves today.

the doctor told me in may i should not run anymore..... we'll see about that one. in his time.

"those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength."

summer fruit

this summer brought days and days of 100+ degree weather. a well body! an 8 hour train ride to dallas. trips to hearne. a road trip to new york. and it brought something worth sighing over, worth shouting from the roof tops.

i am in love. with a wonderful man.

i am blessed by him and the daily little things he does to care for me. i joy in his laughter and love his jokes (even though he doesn't understand why). i still get a bit giddy when i hear his voice on the phone or his knock at the door.

and i have to smile everytime i remember that i get to hold neal's hand.

8 days in a new york minute

day 1: neal, a true road warrior, takes the wheel of a 15 foot monster while micah hacks her way through a gluten free egg mcmuffin. more than perfectly spiced chicken biscuits. air conditioning dance for hours. precious food from hearne, cookies and brownies from ovilla. who could ask for anything more.
day 2: neal takes the wheel. air conditioning dance is over. customer service proves a lost art. two hours in jackson, tenn. a thoughtless mechanic who can't think on his own.
day 3: watch out louisville. watch out for neal's amazing grandmother and her powerful grabber.
day 4: queasy micah waves good bye kentucky. helllllooooooo ohio. helllloooooo wheeling, west virginia? good bye for good wheeling, west virginia. welcome to pennsylvania, home of the omish barn. and another barn. and yet another barn. i heart pennsylvania hills and mountains.
day 5: mcdonald's highway guru misguides; we have no desire to end up in syracuse. watch out nyc... neal is drivin' through lincoln tunnel. micah is very impressed. and very sick. neal navigates manhattan by rubber and harlem by foot. micah navigates brie's pillow. brie brings home the brie. the most tender chicken ever and seafood in madeira sauce mark the first day in gotham.
day 6: 18 miles of words, the villiage people, brazilian goodness, brooklyn lines, ice cream in central park. micah sick. neal patient. all thaid up with 5 wonderful people in the theatre district. and i am blessed by all.... especially the incredible man holding my hand.
day 7: i am still though the city moves all around me. and it is confounded by my stillness. first subway ride alone and i am met by a friendly woman from the bronx. we talk and i save a seat for her on the subway. three girls giggle and sing. harlem's wonders untouched. Lord, save their innocence. a latte later, brie and micah head to "england". two hours of tea and sympathy. lovely. bookstores and libraries. marble and maps. two lions book end a marvelous sight. i love my brie. micah pooped and speechless. brie patient. neal, micah and brie head to a darker gotham for three hours. lamb stew, salmon in dill, salad and carrot soup. je voudrais une boite en bois s'il vous plait. ahhhh la vie en rose.
day 8: hit the ground running. breakfast. the zoo- trains and travelers. the zoo- flashing lights and tourists. ice cream and good byes. subways, buses, and planes. tropical april showers at 14,000 feet while joe mccarthy gambles. and the wheels hit the ground back in austin; two black bags continue on the adventure.

and i am ready for the next adventure. this time healthy. got your bags packed?

summer rain, cherry blossoms and dragons in no particular order

dear diary

pt. 1

"never asume the obvious is true" william safire, pulitzer prize winning writer

this is a quote intuitives, like myself, need to live by. i rush in and take what observations i make to be true without questioning, without seeking concrete evidence to back up assumptions, an intuitive thing to do and a very post modern trend as well. intuitives-- we all do this. a lesson i have learned and learned the hard way: ask. just ask. when you ask, truth will make itself known.

pt. 2


this is my favorite summer ever. this weekend there will be dancing. in a week there will be a road trip to new york. the best part..... is that it is shared with you.

abre o cerado la boca

on waffles

there is a time for silence.

there is a time when i must struggle for words.

some days i must write and say as little as possible.

there is a season for everything under heaven.

but today, i want to shout your name from the rooftops.

1967

melody floated on perfumed breezes
vibrant colors and patterns swayed from winds and hips
daisies haloed gentle people
cut grass and locusts
watermelon
cloud illusions and pipers at the gates of dawn
ella whispers not
it's easy
diamond cherries groove
are you a believer?
i'd like to know if summer is here.

kizkalesi

turkey august 1997

i walked the shores of the mediterranean on a peaceful august eve. it had been a long week. i had a byzantine style bug after drinking something funny. i had walked the streets of adana alone shocked by the number of women and children begging. in mersin, an albino turkish woman and her two children dry and parched, begged me for food. for drink. for life. they will forever be etched in my memory like a tattooed soliloquy of the truest woe. the toothless man and the woman with one leg also stretched their souls out for filling. frail planet. frail love. frail compassion. failed mercy.

i carried the weight of the world as i pensively stepped forward in contemplative wonder. i stepped forward past the pounding tide and the castle of ladies. i moved unaware of what was in front of me, unaware where i was going. and then an image stole my gaze, caused my chest to stop heaving, stilled every thought, every worry, and sighing ceased. she danced one way and he danced the other. their movements fluid and profuse. graceful. gentle turkish folk music guided their plights as they traveled away from each other. and then for a brief moment around this circle of independent tarrying, they would move together. just for a moment though. and when they would move together, the dance became more brilliant, more captivating, more. after several rotations, the music stopped. the man, the woman together in an understood embrace, a sigh-filled pause. when the music began again, this time they moved together. he led forward. she followed. and their movements were in unison. it was the most beautiful dance my eyes have ever witnessed. and i was stunned by the quiet elegance.

has the arabesque ballad begun?

toutes les choses nouvelles

nous avons fait bon accueil à l'été
avec grands eclat de rire
et j'ai été calmé avec joie.
mon coeur était plein.
brises chaudes ont caressé
les réserves
et les oiseaux chanteurs
ont chanté la crainte loin.

je n'ai pas regret
et je suis sûr.

wonder woman

"What is there to be discouraged about? Gandhi said the victory is in the struggle itself. The struggle itself is the most important thing."

Aung San Suu Kyi


Her life and bravery give me the chills. Her sixth year under house arrest under way and she says the only prison is fear and the only freedom is freedom from fear. I know of some other prisons, but, yeah, fear is a powerful one. May you know freedom, may you be set free.

Rossi colored glasses

Совершенная улица
Ulitsa Zodchego Rossi

St. Petersburg, Russia has the perfect street, the street of ideal proportions, perfectly measured, just perfect. In fact, one travel guide suggested that it was an incomparable opportunity to experience harmony. It has identical buildings on either side, same width, same height. The street is even perfectly symmetrical to the height and width of the buildings. When something is perfect, it is flawless, ideal, complete, whole, finished, polished, model, free of defects, blameless, without blemish.

HOAs exist to enforce and manage neighborhoods and yards, ensure everyone uses the same hose, cuts their grass at 3 inches, only plants crepe myrtles and mountain laurels, never puts pink flamingos or garden gnomes in the cultivated landscaping. And to the family that puts a pear tree in the front yard, watch out. You'll probably be asked to cut it down. Everyone else put in the standard silver maple creating the ideal housing development.

All is not perfect in our yard. Gotta say I prefer imperfections. I like funky flamingos.

frustration with general shwe

set her free, myanmar, set her free.
her waters poisoned by decay.
her people swollen with hunger,
dying from disease and starvation.
her freedom sealed in junta pride.
her roof broken and leaking.
her home swept away.
her rice gone to wind and rain.
her pride in your hands,
her life under your thumb,
her strength in your power,
her posture in your control.
and you do nothing. you hold her back with guns and threats.
you let her stand naked in demolished fields.
you let her orphans run through barren streets.
you keep nourishment in holding cells
like her daughter of freedom,
the lady of peace,
you hold it under house arrest.
this is your people
and you have broken her like a weakened un-weened lamb.
you are the cyclone. you are the disease. you are the rot. you are the decay.

and all you have to do is let go.
set her free, myanmar. set burma free. and release the captive.

tsunami

Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.

flood me.
consume me.
devour my pride.
dig your claw in my dragon skin
and release me of this
putrid hide.
shatter the glass
of pretense
of shallowness;
break it into a thousand pieces.
my bones they cry out for resplendence.
my flesh it cries out for goodness.
my heart it cries out for wholeness.
walls still remain. demolish them.
reek havoc on their foundations.
take the mortar and make it pliable.
take the stones and make them like dust
between your index finger and thumb.
vaporize my blindness.

but do not leave me unprotected, naked, trembling.
cover me. blanket me. lead me. hold me.
hide me in your iron grip.
when you do these things, i will be raw, exposed.
please, make a nest for me in grace. in peace. in mercy.

in unfailing love.

as the deer pants for streams of water

so my soul longs, thirsts for living. for reality. for truth. for an astonishing wave of mercy that i can do nothing but weep oceans of living water.

may supplications

today
i want the snow to melt
and spring to come;
today
i want all things new,
a fresh move,
a joyful beginning;
today i want to know
tidal waves and tsunamis
of heavenly water,
to sit on the starry shore
basking in the radiance of kingly love;
today i long for rain,
for red to be sated,
hannah's promise fulfilled;
today i want to walk washed bright by light
and not out of it,
to follow a path etched in time,
a hope and future;
today
i long for an end of darkness and shadows,
for an end to hidden attacks and cowardly enemies;
today
i long to boldly walk up the mountain
holding your hand.

gently down the stream

it's one of those days when there is so much to say and write but none of it fits together. hem's gently down the stream captures how i felt for the first two days of this week with it's surreal, dreamy, solemn goodness as i reflected and somberly celebrated the joy of a perfect sunday evening. for two days i floated gently down the stream, not with a great smile or a stupid grin. there were no expressions and there are no words to write, no tone or voice that can capture the goodness i felt deep within.

thursday was filled with thoughts of bravery in the heat of weakness as i went to chemo with a friend. we were there all day and i saw many souls in and out of the infusion room, ones who have fought with more tenacity and bravery than i can ever truly imagine. there is so much to learn from those who have to walk this path, fight this battle. one lady we met will be forever etched on my memory; she walks this life with her head held high and the knowledge that her cancer will never go away. she was on her fourth type of chemo treatment for one of the rarest kinds of cancer. she is a true amazon. six foot tall. in her late fifties, early sixties. broad, strong shoulders. bright dress. adorned in jewels and high heels. feminine and unmoved. courageous. her comfort during chemo? her husband's picture by her chair. i was indifferent to the picture; but to her his face was love, acceptance, comfort, joy, a blanket of peace.

i am still processing it all-- there is so much to think on when in the chemo infusion room, so much to think about on perfect evenings. another loved one has to face cancer every day. am i helping her, learning from her? i also considered the brevity of life; our turn on this earthly playground is not that long. will it make a difference when i go? have i made a difference? will i ever have what my amazon friend has? i've been waking up every morning at 5:30 this week (not by choice!) turning those thoughts into prayers.

new song, same verse

this morning i woke up at 5:30 with an original song, lyrics and melody, and i failed to write it down. silly me. it was a bluesy tune that stirred my heart reaallly early; i wasn't quite ready to get up yet. it was a bit of the cry of my heart in the vain of ruth. ruth's words to naomi are ones that have been written on my heart. ruth's servant heart, the way she loves, the way she puts aside pride to walk in obedience, impresses me, makes me want to reflect and emanate her character.

marketa irglova, a 19 year old independent Czech musician, and glen hansard are the two musicians who wrote thebeautiful music for the movie ONCE and acted/performed in the movie. the movie, about love and love lost, was one of the best modern musicals i have seen because of the original music. these two artists from different cultures infused their talents and influences bringing a new and fresh voice to a universal subject. each song captures in its melody a lifetime of emtion concerning love. the lyrics to the song i've posted aren't the best; but the musicality and the cinematography speak louder than words in a haunting illustration of what a heart cries.

ode to a bounty of parmesan

Chesterton said it hadn't been done. It's time to pay tribute to cheese.

a solemn joy grew contentment-
it was a mid-spring's eve;
laughter echoed beyond the stolid oak,
oaks that rejoiced with us
and quivered in the wake,
in the solidarity of rapturous reverberation;
the nightingale sang his praise,
his tale interspersed with woe and anguish and
delight-filled bliss;
we too have known the darkness
and have banqueted in its shadow,
feasted on its shores;
but light, ripened berries and
the triune resonance of Il Cannone
sent it flying.

the Decameron's mountain,
parmesan mounds in plenty;
its salty, savory flavor preserves a memory
not soon forgotten,
embraced.

and i am full.

amber waves of grain

In 1974, the year I was born, the world saw a food crisis of epoch proportions instituting the first ever World Food Conference sponsored by the UN. Thirty-four years later at least thirty-seven nations are now in a major food crisis. Some nations are hitting the panic button as they stop exporting rice and wheat and other staples while the UN and the World Bank wave their hands warning the bans only make the problem worse. Everyone looks for a scapegoat, someone or something to blame. China and India are eating better, one article stated. Free trade-- that's the problem! Bio-fuel, the cause of food prices soaring. Western capitalism is to blame. American agriculture is the culprit, another article read. Meanwhile, the peoples of Mauritania and Indonesia and Haiti and Cameroon are starving. The UN has called a meeting in Bern to address an immediate plan of action as well as the cause. The World Bank has doubled its lending to Africa (where a majority of the nations in crisis are) for agriculture to $800 million, both aiding Africa's problem while possibly creating even more problems down the road (debt debt debt on top of more debt).

A couple of months ago I went to Texas French Bread company to eat a lovely lunch of half a pimento cheese sandwich and a mocha walnut cookie. There was a sign at the register warning patrons that prices were rising due to wheat prices rising. And now, I learn that this staple, this grainy goodness, this symbol of wealth and health, prosperity and fertility, is poison to my body. As wheat is in high demand, its prices soar and there is a world shortage, I can't have my cake and eat it too. My daily bread? Potatoes, rice flour, quinoa.

I do feel a bit Marie Antoinette-ish as I enjoy my rice flour chocolate chip cookie and my corn tortilla breakfast taco. hundreds of millions of the world's poor are starving. I read several articles today to get the big picture of what is going on, and one person had the audacity to say that we ignore the problem and let it take care of itself. Let the poor die so we don't have to feed them down the road. Natural Evolution, he called it. Survival of the fittest, right? The wonderful shock and awe of the Beatitudes would say differently. It's the meek that inherit the earth. As a careless, irresponsible consumer who lives in a wealthy, capitalist, wasteful nation I must ask what I can do, what I can change as I leave my thumbprint not only on my country but on the planet as my decisions and patterns cause a waterfall effect on the global economy.

The World Food Programme

http://wfp.org/

The ONE Campaign

http://www.one.org/

World Vision

http://www.wvi.org/

Mercy Corps

http://www.mercycorps.org/

i heart aaron smith

i keep a voice mail from a 2 year old boy named aaron. he now lives in india with his parents and sisters. i love that voicemail. just days before they flew to india, i got to spend one last evening with them; and aaron (his mom dialed and left a message as well) called me hours before just express the sentiments of his uncluttered emotions. in the message i hear his innocent, sweet voice unabashedly reaching from deep within that tiny heart of his just to say, "i love you, miss micah." i don't think i can ever erase that message. he saw a picture of me in december and remembered me, but i don't know if he will next time i see him.

three simple words that incorporate so much action, so much emotion, so much energy, so much. he had no hang-ups, no boundaries, no fear. aaron just said it. he wasn't told by his folks, "no, aaron, you're not old enough to understand love. we don't say those words to our babysitters and caretakers. we only say them to friends and family, people we've known for 10 years or more."

i had a disenchanting weekend, really lonely, discouraging, hard. i tried though. spent time with 2 old friends. called another. delighted by a central american breakfast of black beans, potatoes, eggs and fried plantains (i heart plantains!). swam (or at least walked in the pool). and still it was difficult. and so, i remembered aaron's message. no strings, no hassle, no buts, no holding back. just a pure and sweet and simple, i love you.

the great american disconnect

So last night I watched and was thoroughly disturbed by the movie Lars and the Real Girl. Basic plot-- single 27 year old male lives alone in his brother's garage apartment. Hermit. Very lonely. Afraid to be touched. Not good in conversing with girls. Okay, really bad. And so he forms a delusional girlfriend (anatomically correct doll) and creates her to be his perfect woman. She was raised by nuns, served as a missionary, and was traveling the world. The whole town works with Lars supporting him through his delusion. Finally, his made up girlfriend is no longer needed when he begins to connect with a very sweet and very patient real girl.

What was disturbing is how isolated he was partly by his own design but also because of a scarred past. And also by the design we Americans choose to live. I don't like it! I hate that we are so pulled away from community in this culture. We have our own cars, we drive ourselves alone to our workplace, some of us are alone all day in our offices and cubicles, many go home to empty houses. We surrendered our front porches for back ones, and so many do not even know their neighbors' names. When I lived in Denton, Texas I lived alone for 6 months; during those six months I could go three weeks without meaningful conversations and even worse, three weeks without being touched. Now days, I can still go days without a hug or a brush, and there are a few days I can go without seeing anyone other than my boss and my doctor. Some of this by my own fault, some by cultural choices.

We are not made for this!!! We were designed for connection. We were designed for touch. We were designed for community. We were designed for holy kisses. There is scientific proof for these statements (for another blog) . Men and women. We need 10-12 meaningful touches a day.

so, my challenge today-- go hug someone. Today I am hugging my nieces and sister for lunch. If you have someone to hug, don't take it for granted. Please. I found this Australian short on You Tube called Meaningful Touches. So sweet and sad, sweet and sad... like dark chocolate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2BdTO0wSMQ

the profound dichotomy of contentment and longing

“Contentment is a pearl of great price, and whoever procures it at the expense of ten thousand desires makes a wise and a happy purchase”

John Balguy

“It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.”

George Eliot

"True contentment is a thing as active as agriculture. It is the power of getting out of any situation all that there is in it. It is arduous and it is rare."
G. K. Chesterton

"The continuance of your longing is the continuance of your prayer."

St. Augustine

first poetry rejection under the belt

well, it doesn't look like any of us from writer's group made it into the finalists category of the prairie home companion bed of roses love sonnet contest. we did it though. i submitted. my poem was too obscure and sentimental, i think. ah, well. it's my first rejection! yeah.

still dreaming of a bed of roses.

beauty revisited

"The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread."

D.H. Lawrence

i've decided that the rest of april will be enchanting. no matter what may come, this month will be a month of seeking beauty and being enchanted by little things. i'm going to two doctors today. i'm going to look for enchantment. my hips are killing me, limiting me, taking away mobility and movement. i'm going to find a way to be stationary and enchanted.

this morning's thunderstorms delighted me as they pulled me out of bed crying, Get up! we are greening your trees! come look and see! today i decided to send in my first submission ever to a poetry contest. woah. prarie home companion is having a bed of roses love sonnet contest; the prize is a sleep number bed and 3 dozen roses. i've been sleeping on the same mattress for 22 years. i love roses. winning would be beyond enchanting. so, i'll just be enchanted by the idea of a bed of roses and the fact that i actually wrote a sonnet and submitted it.

yesterday on my pursuit of beauty i googled (who would have thought that "google" would become a verb?) dogwoods, and found a stunning, enchanting photograph taken by a conservationist and nature photographer. i took a photography class in '94 at cedar valley college; my prof hated nature photography. i, on the otherhand, will always be a fan. it takes an amazing eye to capture images in a way that amaze, take us beyond reality, enchant us.

http://www.paulzaretsky.com/

beautiful things

seven straight days of physical pain, and i am desperate for relief. so today i sought beauty. when i lived in amsterdam i became so overwhelmed by the power of pain, by the sorrow and suffering, i shut the door to experiencing pain. life was easier that way. so the woman who wept in my lap when her two children were taken from her-- i didn't feel it. i will never forget it. i had a friend alex who i tried desperately to keep from a drug addicted boyfriend; i didn't feel anything when months later i saw her still with him. i will never forget it. but in shutting out pain, i shut another door. i spent a week in the breathtaking beauty of the black forrest. i didn't feel it. spent a month in the english countryside taking long walks down wooded paths. i didn't feel it.

today i found the music of my second favorite film score composer, zbigniew preisner. he composed the music to two of my favorite films (kieslowski's rouge and bleu). faulkner once said, "Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain". camus on beauty, "Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time". janis joplin sang the blues. it's said that her mom once asked her why she screamed when she had such a pretty voice. it's because she had "soul", wanted "you to feel what i feel". "You know why we’re stuck with the myth that only black people have soul? Because white people don’t let themselves feel things. Man, you and any housewife have all sorts of pain and joy. You’d have soul if you’d give in to it.”

preisner's work is a thing of bitter beauty. listen and weep. it's that good. it's got soul. i've been listening to it this afternoon and i am transported by the beauty, by the music, and the pain seems.... trifle. it's like being in rivendell.

http://www.preisner.com/

"When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be -- I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free." Wendell Berry

"Joy, sorrow, tears, lamentations, laughter, to all these music gives voice, but in such a way that we are transported from the world of unrest to the world of peace, and see reality in a new way, as if we were sitting by a mountain lake and contemplating hills and woods and clouds in the tranquil and fathomless water." Albert Schweitzer

1996 lake tahoe, view from heavenly by micah holcombe

writing life

everyday has been hard to write through. today is gonna be really bad. last night i wrote through intense pain. i had to take the day off yesterday to cope with the pain. stayed up half the night with it. got up at 1am to take a bath because of it. i rolled out of bed this morning 10 minutes before work because of it.

because i'm really bad with boundaries and saying no, and because of my people pleasing tendency, my desire to make everyone happy both out of selfishness (to make myself look good) and a desire to serve, i had a relapse.

i came to work to find a huge mistake i take the blame for. pride was wounded. all will be well. but i made a mistake.

i allowed by nosey nature to get the best of me this morning. and i wounded my pride. i made a mistake.

confusion is king today. i have no clue today. i don't know anything today. boycott beijing? elections in zimbabwe? darfur? nafta? tibet? housing crisis? failing economy? go to school? move to new york, mexico, costa rica, africa, amsterdam, england, vancouver? stay? am i good enough for publishing? am i ever going to be good enough? will i ever write for money? encouragement? hope? love? what's wrong with me?

so, i plod and write. i got to have lunch with my writer's group and the luci shaw (http://www.lucishaw.com/) yesterday. i'll write about that next week after this week of poetry is over. revision is key in writing i learned. and some reason i feel extra insecure about my writing. but i'll keep writing.

really, i just want to kiss and be kissed. hold and be held. love and be loved. be without pain. have energy. be strong again. and write.

challenges and valleys

it's a dreary rainy day today here in austin and the humidity is evidently as high as my curly hair. a grief induced headache finally disappeared this morning after a nice long visit to the chiropractor. visions of annihilating cancer cells dance through my brain as another one loved is diagnosed with the disease from hell (i imagine grabbing them and smashing them on a wall like rotten tomatoes, or whacking them with a giant mallet, or shooting them out of the sky with an ak 47, or decapitating them with a great heavy sword, or....) sorrow and depression grabbed me this weekend despite the lovely setting i was in (a house over looking the lake); and i couldn't write.

when i was in the throws of my strange 2 month illness, brie challenged me to keep writing from that place. it felt as if nothing good could come from my wearied fingers but i kept writing.

last week i decided to challenge myself to a poem a day for a week. i will start today and end sunday. even though this is not the best place to write from, i'll give it a try. life will always hand you sandpaper when you wanted linoleum. there will always be grey days when you wanted shiny ones. a poem a day. for a week. we shall see what will come. quantity produces quality? at least there will be quantity.

sir caedmon's plight

a highland claymore supported
a heavy sigh,
a dark horse rode west
without his knight,
armor lay rusted and worn,
and wild dogs run off with the kill, a pheasant,
today's nourishment now feast for headless hounds;
a bow and arrow broken by samson's might.
clothes tattered and torn
barely shielding evening's dreary fog
from saturating bone and soul;
his face weary from travel,
his heart dismayed,
his pride wounded,
his countenance contrite,
the fallen knight waited by the road.

he knew not where the road led
but he knew where it led not;
he knew not what lay ahead
but he knew what did not;
uncertainty stayed his steps
and fear pulled muscles and sinews
from any forward movement,
for regret and remorse
he wore like a cloak.

his fire smoldered by soaking rains,
cold now became master;
he was not defeated
and he was strong for this kind of battle;
but yesterday's battle
dethroned him,
bested him
like sir gawain's shame;
all had fled
and the fallen knight agonized
all he had lost.

with no meat or mead to sate hunger and chill,
the knight set out
down the road through heathered fields
and stony hills;
he could find provisions in this wild land,
he could hunt and kill;
a stag ran past,
and another.
a coney skipped the path followed by a clever fox;
game was plenty;
the knight could survive here.
the hills could hide and protect, shield and defend;
pelts could be made to blanket the cold,
fires could be kept.
self sustainment was possible in these untamed hills.
the knight could survive.

ten miles west
a banquet was prepared
where snowdrops adorned a well worn table
and provisions were plenty;
a soft whisper called for return
while hearty hands snapped peas and kneaded bread;
a fire was raised blazing
and song could be heard over the distant murmuring brook;
lamb prepared,
the almonds ripe,
fresh apples filled the basket,
and pie steamed on the sill;

a warm hearth waited
while the door remained open.

woman worthy

to a sister fringed and frayed from life's rags, afraid of being unknown and unloved

my love,
your eyes carry your spirit's wearied wear and i hear
you ask in words spoken otherwise,
loved?
cherished?
honored?
haved and held?
beauty surrendered to spoiled milk stains
and youth's fancies and dances gone with
soiled hands and chapped cheeks;
friends now fading;
time constrained to
serving others' mouths and wounds
and life's rhythmic demands.

seek deep within
and remember,
rise from these ashes
as woman worthy.
you are worthy of love
you are worthy of cherishing.
you are worthy of being held.
know yourself and stand in truth;
you are not alone.

seek the beauty,
mark the joys,
reminisce past confidences
and choose to walk in their light,
for my dear, you are woman worthy.

remember your strength?
remember your adventures?
remember your heart?
remember the spirit calling you?
remember the mountains and rivers and waterfalls?
remember your voice?
remember your fluid tongue and the languages it loved?
remember your eye that captured visions not seen by others?
remember play?

put behind the lies,
the words that linger to bind you to this
life of self lost.
put behind the feeling
that significance is found in the glory of other's praise;
search for it in the voice that never changes,
the one who dances over you because he calls you
daughter.
put behind the mantle that
has been crusted by other's shit and shame,
the mantle that weighs you down
and hides starry eyes and widened smiles.

beautiful one, you are woman worthy.

somber meditation

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. "

-John Donne

strawberries and cream in a snowstorm

today there is happiness
today there is dancing
today cherry blossoms bloom within
today feet tap just a little bit more
today cheeks ache with smiling
today joy radiates
today hope rises

why?

vacation is at hand.

just waiting for the cherry on top
to topple this mile-high whipped cream joy over
in exuberant giddiness.

three movements

i walked for miles today looking
for poetry; and it found me,
it embraced me with its sure message
of hope and dancing elephants.

i walked for miles yesterday looking
for sunshine; and it found me,
it bathed me in its strong promise
of content and warm rice noodles.

i will walk miles tomorrow and i will look
for silk; i will close my eyes
and reach out in front of me with anticipation
of it clothing me in its red beauty
of tender mercy and
a solo clarinet sonata.

a winter's end

in progress

that winter sunday
light shattered the icy sorrow
with beauty and joy
and words that awakened sleeping stars
though monday brought
a month buried under slumbering
sheets of uncertainty.

time passed and
the eclipsed moon hidden
revealed a blue moon,
tomorrow's dream unveiling,
while a strong north breeze
stole in
caressing my neck with its chilly breath,
promising a new melody.
fields of yesterday's oat crops
gone, let go, released to a grassy green hill of dandelions.
the lilacs withered
and the morning glories faded with the western sun;
they became earth and fed
the meadows of bright poppies,
meadows that whisper for
dawn's unassailed morn.

experimenting with haiku part I

for you

rumors of joy, true
misty blue hills prophecy
blossoming dogwoods


for brie

gleaming grace adorns
hope halos as dreams draw nigh
and light becomes you

yeah, it's been one of those days

it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that today is the day when red hearts and cavity-causing lollipops crowd desktops and inboxes. or the fact that today honors a man who chose to defy roman law by allowing love's call and God's design to win the day. or the fact that today is a couple's day.

i usually observe the day by taking myself out for a cappuccino and journaling, trying to find ways to enjoy and celebrate even as a single. but today, today i just want to fall into a strong shoulder and be held.... because my car died this morning and had to ride the bus and walk a mile (which wouldn't be all bad if i didn't have mono), because i've been sick for a month and feel miserable, because my glands are throbbing and my body aches, because i have insatiable sleepiness and i would rather be in bed right now (even though i got 10 hours of sleep last night), because there's work to be done in the office and i can barely keep my eyelids open let alone make web updates, because i am not allowing anyone to hug me and many are afraid to hug someone with a infectious virus (i would be too), because this illness is isolating, because being human i am designed for fellowship... and touch.

i know, i know. that's really not too much to complain about. there have been blessings as well. a dear individual set me up with homeopathic medication to speed up the healing. two lovely people brought me food yesterday. and i get these delightful cross-cultural phone calls!

the day did get better after going to lunch with my sister and nieces. my 1 year old niece, zoe, has this funny habit of grabbing her ears and chanting baby talk, and she saves this occupation solely for car rides. what a way to lighten the heart with kooky habits of 1 year olds.

still, it's just been one of those days when lemonade and cherry pie seem just out of reach. maybe i just need to change my outlook on lemons and cherries.

the impatient patient or "ill"iterations

ah, to write something wise and witty, poetic and poignant, sagacious and sarcastic. but, lo, the brain cells and body have been borrowed by a voraciously vengeful virus for well over a fortnight, and i fear any attempt at phonetic fowl play would fringe on something frightfully freakish or freakishly phantastical, and the foundation for fine fellows of philology from the franciscan order found in the far off land of pfluggerville, to which i owe my honorary degree in experimental philology (or was that moldova?), would most likely find a fast way to finish this phlegmatic female. shall i fly first class to philadelphia to find a physician fond of deciphering fickly fiendish flus before the FFFph of FOpf finalizes my demise? but no. my melancholic malaise must manifest itself miraculously and magically benign before any flights of fancy misguide my fanatic feet. mono is maliciously and multifacitly unfair firstly because it was not kanoodled by a kiss and finally because i find i can no longer find fascinating phrases to fit my fiddle.

five hours of silence one saturday: dust to dust

dust to dust

i did an excavation the other day
with a broken limb,
a weak instrument for archaeological discoveries,
and i found two simple layers.
the first layer was dry and brittle,
of things withered and lifeless;
with a simple twist between my thumb
and forefinger
i crushed and disintigrated
a crumbly, sunbaked, dehydrated, diminished leaf.

the second layer was completely smothered by the first.
light did not reach here. light did not shine here.
the first thing that reached my senses
was the smell; the smell of decomposition
and rot.
black were the leaves
spotted with white,
marks of earth returning to earth;
dark was this layer,
corrupt. demoralized.

and the archaeologist asks,
what weary, fading things
suffocate and choke
the sun's nutrient laden
shafts
from reaching this undernourished,
feeble soul?

five hours of silence on saturday: wind and fire

wind and fire

the closer i get to you
the more pain i feel;
as i approach,
your radiance
burns,
it penetrates my skin
as it works its way in
warming my muscles and sinews,
bathing my vital organs
in pure light.

it is disturbing. it is uncomfortable.
it is holy.
and it is good.

even though i am millions of light
years away from the sun
and your glory steals my breath,
still i want more. you are my desire.

light of the world, pierce me
even more.

love's charge dear sisters, dear brothers

dear sisters
my loves,
i charge you
as daughters of the most high king,
as women of worth and valor,
as ones who seek to know the
sovereign face of Love's true embrace,
guard your hearts
for the heart is the wellspring of life;
it is a precious thing,
an honest treasure of inestimable worth;
treat the men in your life with
a sister's care, with tender words and
holy kisses, with truth and grace;
do not arouse or awaken love
until its time,
until the Beloved
releases the chords that hold your
hearts and bind them to Him;
your hearts, they deserve to be honored;
your love, it needs to be cherished;
and you, you are worth far more than rubies;
do not toss away something so dear to the wind
hoping it will carry you across the waves;
wait! take heart and wait.
let love find you.

dear brothers
my loves,
i charge you
as sons of the most high king,
as men of honor and dignity,
as ones who seek to know
the face of Glory;
guards your hearts
for the heart is a value worth more than gold,
greater than precious stones,
it is the wellspring of life;
protect the sisters in your life
with truth and fraternal tenderness,
with grace and loyalty;
do not give love away
until your Sovereign releases you;
and when His charge is given
pursue it with the force
of the knights of old,
with david's lire
and solomon's passion;
for your love is thing of great worth
not to be won by lust or flattery
but to be held dear and held close,
to be counted far more beautiful
and costly than any earthly thing.

Sisters, remember their mothers when thinking of your brothers. Brothers, as a brother once said to me, "think of your sisters as the mob boss' daughters." Honor each other in the Love of the Beloved.

endor's kiss

saul, how the mighty have fallen

what shadows fell here
and darkness concealed
what hollow voids hid in their
secret caves
and dry wood withheld,
dampened ground,
wet leaves crushed by heavy boots
and age
what the musty stench
and frothy air
of night secured
in its consuming tendrils

you, you walked to her
you chose her untested knowledge
doubt propelled your foot
hoping for a relief
wanting safety
security
pleasure
to know her magic
how it would sate your frailty
for she had the answers your answer would not give

and you, you walked away from trust
you chose endor's kiss
and all her charms
the dark crevisses of her mouth
and the folds of her skirt
that hid your weakness
her hips your delight
though you knew
under the veil was the
denial of truth
an age old sin
that led you down the familiar
and familial paths

you had a chance to walk away
even samuel knew
but you, you chose
the hidden
the wasted
the counsel of her lust
the seductive gaze
of power
and the driving hurricane
of the pursuit of knowledge
the idol of understanding
the guiling smirk
of her tainted lips
how the mighty have fallen
in the vain likeness
of holy crusades.

$1,000,000.00

there is so much on my mind and heart, so much to write about, poems lingering on the edge of my tongue and fingers, still much sadness and much processing. but today something very rare and very unusual has happened to me.

i touched a million dollars. today. literally. i touched a check for a million dollars. today. with my own two hands. the interest alone on that check will make double my yearly salary. whoa. i love working in philanthropy. we give away money. and some philanthropists give away big money. like 1 million dollars. for good causes. some person just sat down and wrote a check with six big zeroes behind a big fat 1. and it wasn't child's play or monopoly money. it was the real thing. not to buy a house or invest in the latest technology. it was given away. just like that. for posterity's sake. not to make a grandchild rich and wealthy or to make a name for oneself. but for the general public to benefit. and again i say, whoa.

so, i of course began to wonder.... if i was given a million dollars just like that what would i do with it? how would i steward it? what would you do with it?

-i would set up a retirement fund for my parents
-i would set some aside for my nieces to go to college
-i would set some aside for investing specifically for charity/missions/ministry and research well what i give to
-i would put some to work in investments
-i would set some aside for adopting a child one day
-i would buy a reliable vehicle for my brother and sister
-i would buy a hybrid vehicle for myself
-i would buy a shotgun to put my current vehicle out of its misery
-i would put some aside hoping that one day i get to have a very simple wedding
-i would find some kind of support to lose that last 35 of hiding weight (yes, i am one of those women always self-conscious of her body and all the perceived imperfections)
-i would go back to school and go to grad school in england
-i would cook large elaborate meals for random people
-i would have a community home in an unknown land to host musicians and poets and writers and artists and travelers and wanderers and the tired and weary and missionaries and thinkers and lecturers and intellects and philosophers and seekers and doers
-i would dress like a true bohemian and pierce my nose
-i would study a country and its people and go live there for a while
-i would take some time out just to write. just write.
-i would spend a day at the strand in nyc buying and giving away books
-i would dream about all the things that need to be done on this earth to bring it closer to what grace and glory look like... para ejemplo, programs for street kids in under-developed nations, ways to get children in third world countries out of the factories and in to childhood, what relief in africa should really look like, how to end the sex slave trade, how to support debt forgiveness for underdeveloped countries and programs to help them develop and maintain budgets and thriving industries, etc., etc...

looking at the list, there is so much of it that can be done without a million dollars! i don't need the million. just kinda need a little faith. so much of it is just dreams and visions, hopes and prayers. my purpose in life, my purpose on this round blue globe is to honor christ. my purpose is to serve him all the days i am given on this planet. that is my call. that is my reason to breathe and walk and live. this opportunity to be a civilian, to be a warm body on a cold cold earth, is a privilege and a grace though some days it feels more like punishment and purgatory. i don't need a million dollars. i've been given so much already. and i ask a similar question in another light, how am i stewarding all i've already been given?

right now someone i know is helping a charitable organization plan to give away $100,000,000.00 over the next few years. now that is.... unfathomable.

behold ye, unsacred one

what was hidden,
what was gloved in velvet,
what was meant as
an irony of pleasure
will be completely undone.

your power is not power,
it can be bested;
your hold has no mastery
over a soul
already claimed
a woman named,
made
in the likeness
of a king.

and if you read the
writing on a body sanctified,
redeemed
it does not read
'she is mine';

it echoes the words
of the solemn troubadour,
a long ago wisdom
calling and affirming
love's design,
'i am my beloved's and he is mine.'

darkness, your call is light
and i say in the name of
the one who knows well
your end
and, in the same breath,
knows well
the scarlet robe that consecrates
a heart forgiven,
run;
for his authority and dominion
knows no boundary,
no emasculation,
and absolutely
no end.

le monde dans elle mains

pardonnez-moi, s'il vous plait.
je parle mauvais français et
je l'ecrit plus mal.

je ne comprends pas!
je suis tres desoriente
parce que
je ne sais pas si j'étais rêver
ou
si je vivais en réalité;
mon veu n'ont pas été validés
avec
les mots lumineux
ou
baisers de compassion,
ni embrasse.

et mon espoir regarde notre monde
avec les verres rose-colores,
comme utopia;
ma volonte l'a exigé,
les autres l'a encouragé,
et cheminées chaleureux écrites
sans écriture,
parle sans parler,
bien que l'instinct et l'intuition
ondulé les drapeaux jaunes.

mais aujourd'hui.
aujourd'hui est un autre jour.
et maintenant je comprends que
le monde est cassé
et
tout que j'ai rêvé était
de chaque maniere
tacite.

et deja,
je suis oublié.
et le slience.
il parle tout.
il n'y a bouge.
et rotation des arrêts.

le monde est-il une étape?
le monde est-il rond ou plat?
est-ce que les etoiles
entourent autour de nous?
je ne comprends rien.

"Entre l'idée
Et la réalité
Tombe l'ombre."