It's that weird season where nothing seems very genuine.
Where life consists of going through the motions and you recognize it but don't know how to change it. Can you rightfully blame it on your setting, your circumstance, or even yourself? I don't know the answer's to these questions. But I do know that "The Great Slump" is something I have grown to despise. It appears to be inescapable. I know that there is reason in everything, so I know that it serves a purpose. But quite honestly, I can not WAIT until it's over. I am so good at disguising it, even my best friends probably don't notice. I can go to a million church services, read a million verses, pray a million prayers, but I can not seem to feel anything. Real faith is beyond feelings and emotions, so maybe God is teaching me what real faith is. Can I live faithfully for a month and counting in a state of emotionlessness? The question is more or less pointless to even ask. I don't have a choice. I am seeing that I don't live the way I do because I have a list of rules I'm following, its not because my mom says it is the right thing to do, it is not because it makes me feel better about myself. It is because I know, down in the depths of who I am, that there is no way I could live otherwise. "Thank you God for the Great Slump"....doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, But This too shall pass.
12.28.2008
12.16.2008
Secrets
There is a small coffee shop on 12th avenue. I don't even know the name of it, but it usually gets passed up and the Frothy Monkey tends to steal its traffic.
I was in this little hole in the wall coffee shop a few nights ago.
It's occupants were few, a mere three customers.
To give you a visual; the walls are stark white and made of cinder blocks. The floor is tiled and dirty. The place lacks color. There is a small table with band advertisements and random flyers announcing various types of media in the area. There is only one worker, who looks tired but kind. She is mumbling about how they used to close at 7 but they pushed it back to 9. Her words seem bitter but her tone begs to differ. She isn't complaining, simply stating. I love this coffee shop.
Apart from the man buying a muffin, and the girl doing research on an old laptop in the corner, one man sits all alone.
He has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. Sad eyes, eyes that tell a thousand stories in one glance. The kind of eyes that make you want to look away because you can almost feel the pain they have seen...but you can't look away, you're trapped. This man has the darkest skin I have seen in a while. As if he just dropped in from a foreign country. And maybe he did, but that is besides the point. He is old.. quite old, tattered and torn in appearance. His clothes, his hair... his eyes. Have you ever looked into torn eyes? Because the experience is something that stays with you. It's one of those things that you don't ever really forget about. He has telling eyes. I would say that I hope my eyes tell a thousand stories.. but I don't think I have a thousand stories to tell. The eyes of the old have a mystery in them, an uneasy tiredness, a strange peace, it's almost as if they know that death is near.. but are somehow comforted by it. I bet it is much like the eyes of a newborn. Eyes full of secrets. You begin you're life not knowing how to speak... so you won't tell you're secrets to the world. You must learn to talk, and in the process you forget the secrets only to get them back when death is at you're door; when you are sitting in a coffee shop on a Saturday night in December at 7:00 PM alone, tired, worn out, and looking into the eyes of each person that passes... silently telling them your secrets.
I was in this little hole in the wall coffee shop a few nights ago.
It's occupants were few, a mere three customers.
To give you a visual; the walls are stark white and made of cinder blocks. The floor is tiled and dirty. The place lacks color. There is a small table with band advertisements and random flyers announcing various types of media in the area. There is only one worker, who looks tired but kind. She is mumbling about how they used to close at 7 but they pushed it back to 9. Her words seem bitter but her tone begs to differ. She isn't complaining, simply stating. I love this coffee shop.
Apart from the man buying a muffin, and the girl doing research on an old laptop in the corner, one man sits all alone.
He has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. Sad eyes, eyes that tell a thousand stories in one glance. The kind of eyes that make you want to look away because you can almost feel the pain they have seen...but you can't look away, you're trapped. This man has the darkest skin I have seen in a while. As if he just dropped in from a foreign country. And maybe he did, but that is besides the point. He is old.. quite old, tattered and torn in appearance. His clothes, his hair... his eyes. Have you ever looked into torn eyes? Because the experience is something that stays with you. It's one of those things that you don't ever really forget about. He has telling eyes. I would say that I hope my eyes tell a thousand stories.. but I don't think I have a thousand stories to tell. The eyes of the old have a mystery in them, an uneasy tiredness, a strange peace, it's almost as if they know that death is near.. but are somehow comforted by it. I bet it is much like the eyes of a newborn. Eyes full of secrets. You begin you're life not knowing how to speak... so you won't tell you're secrets to the world. You must learn to talk, and in the process you forget the secrets only to get them back when death is at you're door; when you are sitting in a coffee shop on a Saturday night in December at 7:00 PM alone, tired, worn out, and looking into the eyes of each person that passes... silently telling them your secrets.
12.12.2008
There is something about Christmas that makes me such a sap...
I really kind of love this poem.
“6:59 AM”
Shane Koyczan
I’ve been told
that people in the army
do more by 7:00 am
than I do
in an entire day
but if I wake
at 6:59 am
and turn to you
to trace the outline of your lips
with mine
I will have done enough
and killed no one
in the process.
“6:59 AM”
Shane Koyczan
I’ve been told
that people in the army
do more by 7:00 am
than I do
in an entire day
but if I wake
at 6:59 am
and turn to you
to trace the outline of your lips
with mine
I will have done enough
and killed no one
in the process.
12.03.2008
Toco el aire a usted no lo toco
http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/08/12/02/
Hello Caroline,
This is the end of an era.
"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland."
You have an unlimited amount of directions you can choose to go from here; a room full of doors. And each one is different, each one is valuable. Close your mouth and listen. You will hear me say, "This is the way, walk in it."
For now, live each present day as it comes. Do not worry about yesterday or tomorrow.
__________________________________
It is an interesting thing to learn how to not live in the past, but to learn from it. People say, "Live for today!!!" or even "What you do today, effects tomorrow!"
Our culture is very present/future directed. But the past... It is a controlling thing. We are told to forget it... but forgetting it would leave room to repeat it. The human race seemingly has a problem with repeating the past. We drudge up old wounds, have world wars one after the other, pass on prejudices, and continue to believe that if we just have that ONE THING!(whatever it may be for you at this point and time in your life), our lives would be complete... we would finally be happy. The past has a way of lying to us.
I think it helps to document the past, so that we don't forget how it felt. So we don't forget what it cost us in the end. Emotions are fleeting... easily forgotten in time. But what does it look like, to live each day, using the past as a reference of what works and what doesn't? What does it look like to live in such a way that pushes us in the direction of our future but doesn't idolize it? I'm not sure that I know.
Hello Caroline,
This is the end of an era.
"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland."
You have an unlimited amount of directions you can choose to go from here; a room full of doors. And each one is different, each one is valuable. Close your mouth and listen. You will hear me say, "This is the way, walk in it."
For now, live each present day as it comes. Do not worry about yesterday or tomorrow.
__________________________________
It is an interesting thing to learn how to not live in the past, but to learn from it. People say, "Live for today!!!" or even "What you do today, effects tomorrow!"
Our culture is very present/future directed. But the past... It is a controlling thing. We are told to forget it... but forgetting it would leave room to repeat it. The human race seemingly has a problem with repeating the past. We drudge up old wounds, have world wars one after the other, pass on prejudices, and continue to believe that if we just have that ONE THING!(whatever it may be for you at this point and time in your life), our lives would be complete... we would finally be happy. The past has a way of lying to us.
I think it helps to document the past, so that we don't forget how it felt. So we don't forget what it cost us in the end. Emotions are fleeting... easily forgotten in time. But what does it look like, to live each day, using the past as a reference of what works and what doesn't? What does it look like to live in such a way that pushes us in the direction of our future but doesn't idolize it? I'm not sure that I know.
12.02.2008
and so it seems that I am in fact, not blind.
humiliation: the act of realizing that, in a moment of divine truth, tainted by false pride, you prophesied your own downfall....
Stitch in your knitted brow
and you don't know how
you're gonna get it out
crushed under heavy chest
trying to catch your breath
but it always beats you by a step,
making the best of it
playing the hand you get
you're not alone in this
Stitch in your knitted brow
and you don't know how
you're gonna get it out
crushed under heavy chest
trying to catch your breath
but it always beats you by a step,
making the best of it
playing the hand you get
you're not alone in this
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