The Waning Moon

As I drove home from Fayetteville last night I was struck by the incredible beauty of the waning moon. It rested upon its back like the shaved edge of a disk, or like a bit of mustard yellow construction paper, set against the inky blackness of night. Its back gently kissed the horizon as we drove along in the dimness of the evening. Its hidden face added to its mystery, its allure. As it peeked its strip of self at me through the ever-moving trees, I felt a sense of privileged awe, as if it waned just for me...

The poetic irony of the tragically disconnected

My generation is seemingly the most "in-touch" generation of any before its time, yet the tragic irony is--we couldn't be more disconnected from one another. We live in the age of iphones, blackberries, facebook, blogging, instant messaging--instant everything. Every facet of our society speaks of intense longing, desire, for relationship, for intimacy, for connection--all of the aforementioned "gadgets" speak to this end. Yet, we sit together around a table together, iphones in hand, fighting with all that is within us to remain connected to the world, but in the process we lose the very connections right in front of our face. The poetic irony is almost too painful to grasp.

Things that leave a feeling of satisfaction.

1.) Sliding down banisters

2.) Waking up before your alarm and not feeling tired

3.) A sunrise experienced in silent contemplation

4.) A great cup of coffee or tea in the morning

5.) Birthdays had with good friends

6.) Laughter that draws tears of mirth

7.) A deep yawn

8.) A sigh of relief

9.) The world before it wakes up

10.) An indelible conversation

11.) Meals consumed at ease

12.) A fond embrace

13.) Gifts given in love

14.) Snow days

15.) Yoga

16.) A task accomplished

17.) Sweating after a workout

18.) Numbers that come in integers of five

19.) A good hair day

20.) Hand-written letters

21). Unsolicited admiration

22.) Genuine affection

23.) Grilled cheese and tomato soup on a cold evening

24.) A newly sharpened pencil

25.) A good sneeze

26.) A skirt or dress with pockets

27.) Crossing something off a do-to-list

Additions to follow...

Doughnuts and Friday Mornings.

A new tradition is being paved--doughnut runs on Friday mornings. My housemate, Annaka, and myself started this beautiful tradition towards the end of last semester when we stayed up nearly the whole night writing our American lit. term papers, rising after only two meager hours of sleep and driving to Daylight Doughnut Shop to revel in fried flour, sugar and coffee. Doughnut Fridays change often in form and consistency; it varies who happens to join and augment our small party of two; it changes whether or not we venture out every Friday, or perhaps just once a month, but tradition is tradition and doughnut runs on Friday mornings will continue as long as sugar, gluten and a desire for such combinations exist. Tradition is tradition, after all.

The haze of time...

I feel as if I have been walking around in a daze as of late, a daze of Time. The passage of minutes, hours, days, and weeks seems to transfixed, and I am simply meandering along on a treadmill, going nowhere. I am perpetually moving, ever faster it seems, yet I often feel that I am simply remaining stationary. Will I ever reach a destination? Or is the very process the destination? I cannot tell. I am inclined to believe the latter, but who truly knows? I believe I live as if the destination is the goal, yet I fear I too often miss the point of it all. Time is extremely limiting, confining. Humanity is finite, limited. We are by our very nature confined by Time, yet we can choose within its context to get off the treadmill and go somewhere, or rather, we can become content with the walk...it's up to us.

Tidal waves

Life often engulfs one like a tidal wave, filled with activity and stimulation. These waves can at times be overwhelming, they afford one with peaks and crests of wonder, and at times coupled with troughs of despair. The saying, "when it rains, it pours," is similar to the tidal wave analogy--far more image-evoking though--don't you think? Would we not prefer to live in the crests and troughs of these waves rather than reside in the stagnant stillness of the open sea? But, then again, I suppose it depends upon what kind of surfing you like?

A thousand voices

They blend and mingle in my mind. They are my many counselors, kindred spirits, mentors, confidants, and bosom friends. I hear them whisper and guide me, listen and cause me to heed. Conversations countless and wonderful engulf my memory. Thank goodness for the beautiful gift of friendship...

Mirth--a gift untold

Laughter is truly like medicine to the soul. It releases so much of what we otherwise would not process or allow space to be examined. True, honest-to-goodness laughter communicates infinitely more than a thousand words could express and such laughter tickles areas of your soul and psyche that otherwise would remain dormant and untouched. A good laugh relieves stress, eases sorrow, diminishes awkwardness, and adds to the beauty of an already beautiful moment. Mirth and laughter are indeed beautiful gifts of life that ought to be reveled in, otherwise, what's the point of mirth...

The real me....?

I'm a bit terrified if the world were to find out who I really am. I am convinced I can only hide behind my facade of an identity for so long until someone, somewhere will discover I am a phony, a fraud. It's only a matter of time until they will uncover my feeble attempts at being suave or debonair, finding sadly that behind the boots and scarves and the "typical English major" there exists a scared, insecure girl of 5 or 6, who struggles with spelling and cannot do basic algebra to save her life. It's not so much that I'm scared of not being "cool" but rather being found inadequate, lacking. But, then again everyone is afraid of not being "tragically cool," as my house mate Annaka likes to say...we all just need to get over it and spell everything phonetically.

Anti-contentment

This concept is scarce in our ultra materialistic society. Everything screams at us yelling: "You want this!" or "Just this one last thing" or "You won't be happy until you have"...fill in the blank. We are not encouraged to be content, ever. We are rather suppose to exist in a perpetual cycle of grasp, obtain, become discontent, and then begin again. It's never ending, never ending. We, has humanity are never allowed to feel as if we have enough. Why? Do we grasp simply because we can? Do we continually seek and desire more because that is where are society has arrived? I'm not sure, but I know when I do find myself becoming content, I begin to feel as if something is wrong with me, perhaps I could just go buy a new pair of shoes to fix that feeling...

Modern trappings...

I loath the modern Christian bookstore and all that it represents. I cannot stand the shelves upon shelves of sappy Christian romance novels, that are essentially the same cliche, horribly written story retold again and again, just with different, repeating titles. I detest the tacky ties displayed near the cash registers, embossed with a fish or a cross. Who actually wears those? I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't wear ties. I particularly enjoy the entire wall dedicated to the infinite variety of Bible covers and cases. "Here we have a lovely industrial strength leather, complete with the owners initials, or here we have a plain steel casing, that ensures you will only read your Bible when YOU want to!" My favorite is observing the people who frequent these stores. Like the middle aged woman, who is wearing electric pink athletic pants and talking very loudly on her cell phone, as she bickers with the cashier because her items are more expensive than expected. Where is Christ in all of this? Where have we banished Him in the midst of these modern trappings of the faith? Maybe He is in the children's corner with veggie tales? I forgot to look there...

Order from Chaos into Madness

There is something incredibly gratifying about achieving order out of chaos. Cleanness from dirtiness. Neatness from disorder. Beauty from ugliness. This is satisfaction. I revel in emerging from the muck of chaos into the clean open spaces of order. This can, however, become an obsession. When the maintenance of order overtakes ones life. I wrestle with this problem, daily. I strive to maintain order in a universe where all tends to disorder. Madness? Maybe.

But, if we are not continually striving against the ever-encroaching chaos, we will be overcome. It does seem like madness, but life is madness. Nothing truly makes sense in the universe, or at least very little. Take love for example. It makes utterly no sense at all. Why would one individual completely surrender themselves body and soul to another, leaving oneself open and vulnerable to all possibilities, both good and bad? Foolery. It's all foolery.