untitled sketch of a response to an unexpected event

thirty seven years from now in a room cast with the beauty and assurance of a radiant muse, you will discover astonishingly the threshold of flight; a clamped spirit will be lifted beyond cowardice to eager ears.

there is one other than i, 

masterfully fashioned 

to sing you the story of shadow and light. 

try as i might, 

my voice cannot stand. 

she will quiet the cries 

that have long been ignored,

melting away masks you have dawned.

to lifeless places she will attend,

restoring a spirit empty and worn.

with breath that is true,

this language of music - all that is her

will surely love well

all that is you. 

one. a.m. story time

lamp-lit porch on a warm night.

stories illuminate the Great Story. 

a grandfather palm tree stands

stoic across the street. alone. 

together, wide-eyed children delight 

to know more of Him, whom they love.

cradled by the night, i 

surrender my head

to the back of my chair,

cup of hot chocolate in hand.

light from the street lamp washes

the dirt from my face.

listening peacefully to my friend,  i 

forget altogether that i 

have been sad. 

confession

for lunch, i ordered a bruin bagel at a coffee shop called brew n' beans. i was served by a charming man wearing a bruin cap, who i later found out is a ucla undergrad. then i met with a friend who is a proud alum of the same rival institution of higher learning. 

I am SC!

I am a Trojan!

i stumbled upon belonging

Part of the Visual Prayer Series by Steven Williams, New York City.

(i'm top row, second picture)

from my napkin

how lovely of you, Sunlight, to filter through the window and rest on my shoulders. they roll forward, inviting the cloak of warmth that is you. 

your gentleness soothes the jagged edges of my frame, fiercely sculpted throughout the day by an ignorant and careless would-be artist. 

communist card game

point of order...

there is a most hysterical card game that i rediscovered last night called MAO. it is a game where you figure out the rules by being penalized for breaking them; or witnessing someone else break them. there are set rules that never change... and then each round there is a new rule added by the previous winner, but no one is allowed to discuss which rules are set and which rules are temporary. 

but...wikipedia...talked.

end point of order.

endlessly on my lips

a good song...

I delight myself in the Richest of Fair,

Trading all that I've had for all that's better. 

A garment of praise for my heaviness;

You are the greatest taste. 

(Beauty for Ashes, Shane Barnard)

against slander

a good word...

CHRIST.   My son, do not take it to heart if others think ill of you, and say unpleasant things about you. Consider yourself to be even worse than they imagine, and regard yourself as the weakest of men. If your inner life is strong, you will not pay much heed to passing words. A wise man remains silent when beset by evil; he turns to Me in his heart, and is untroubled by man's judgments.

Do not let your peace depend on what people say of you, for whether they speak good or ill of you makes no difference to what you are. True peace and joy is to be found in Me alone. He who is neither anxious to please nor afraid to displease men enjoys true peace. All unrest of heart and distraction of mind spring from disorderly affections and groundless fears. 

- Thomas a Kempis (the Inner Life)

decided not to work tonight

the past few nights have been warm, lovely, huggable. when i step outside, i cannot help but fling my arms wide in an attempt to embrace the sky. 

i had some quality time this evening with a friend i've known for years, but rarely see. we told stories, read poetry, looked up words in the dictionary, unpacked scripture and most importantly, drank hot chocolate. 

sarah responded to the previous post; when i read her response i felt more loved and known than i have in a long time. (then patrick wrote something cool in response to her response.)  she is my fluent companion in a foreign society; an overwhelming gift from my father who reminds me that he too is keenly aware of my need to travel with Cinderella and Confessions in my backpack. 

white dresses

my feet are sore. i danced a lot tonight. weddings these days, i'm noticing, are more enjoyable. maybe it is because i am slowly becoming less embarrassed of my heart and the fact that it is deeply moved by romance. i've thought recently about giving the book Captivating another shot. i was too much of a snob when a friend first gave me the book. i don't have time for all this romantic, dating, heart of a woman, princess @*^%...i mean with all of the works of lewis and edwards i still have yet to read.  funny, i am noticing more and more similarities between the girl i used to turn my nose up at (and still sometimes do) and err...myself.

i am in the habit of assuming my desires to be of a nobler sort if i feel them to be unconventional. there exists a yearning to be set apart and found uncommon and consequently desired all the more. and i must admit that even in this confession there is the wish to be set apart due to my...daring honesty. 

so. maybe i am not able to find the words and make them dance and burn as rilke did. maybe i don't have the diligence of michelangelo or the vibrant imagination of tolkien. maybe i do tend to think about a kiss on the beach at sunset as much as i think about belief an age of skepticism or if there could be a second fall in the new heavens and new earth. 

maybe what people think of me is not so important. 

damn jar

The first tears of today were in response to a story about a polyphemus moth and a damn, ubiquitous mason jar.

Annie Dillard recalls this story from her childhood in her book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. She remembers when her friend brought to class a Polyphemus moth cocoon she found in a pile of leaves. Each curious classmate took turns holding the cocoon. The warmth of their hands soon prompted the detainee to vigorously fight for its freedom. When the teacher noticed, she retrieved the restless, scrambling object, dropped it in a mason jar and left it on display, museum-style for the class to observe.

“I don’t remember anything but that thing’s struggle to be a moth or die trying. It emerged at last, a sodden crumple….He stood still, but he breathed.

He couldn’t spread his wings. There was no room. The chemical that coated his wings like varnish, stiffening them permanently, dried, and hardened his wings as they were. He was a monster in a Mason jar. Those huge wings stuck on his back in a torture of random pleats and folds, wrinkled as a dirty tissue, rigid as leather. They made a single nightmare clump still wracked with useless, frantic convulsions.

The next thing I remember, it was recess. Everyone was playing dodgeball in the fenced playground or racing around the concrete schoolyard by the swings. Next to the playground a long delivery drive sloped downhill to the sidewalk and street. Someone – it must have been the teacher – had let the moth out. I was standing in the driveway, alone, stock-still, but shivering. Someone had given the Polyphemus moth his freedom, and he was walking away.

He heaved himself down the asphalt driveway by infinite degrees, unwavering. His hideous crumpled wings lay glued and rucked on his back, perfectly still now, like a collapsed tent. The bell rang twice; I had to go. The moth was receding down the driveway, dragging on. I went; I ran inside.”

There have been many times where I've had the instinct to shatter glass on concrete. One time I followed through. I wish Annie would have smashed that mason jar to pieces in the middle of the classroom. 

half-blind

i dreamt last night that i went blind in my left eye. i fell to the ground begging God to restore the big, black, half-world i could no longer see. even crying seemed inhuman. the left-eye tears seemed to be coming out of a void. i felt like half of my life had been cast into darkness. when i awoke and was able to see with both eyes, i immediately found myself more than just relieved. my joy in seeing had been enhanced by the nightmare.

i am thankful God is patient with me. 

muted

this morning i had an experience where i felt disregarded by someone i admire.  i panicked. when did i suddenly become commonplace? insignificant? 

i remember now what was said on sunday and it quiets me: there is not a person who dares to wake the king at 3 am.  nobody except the king's kid that is. and i am the daughter of the king. i am in my nightgown in the middle of the night, running barefoot down the hall of the palace. i charge through the door and take a flying leap onto the bed of my father and yell, "wake up, i need to talk to you!" 

and here, i am not ignored. i experience that i am loved and such a love affirms me. there is nothing i can do to make myself less wanted by him. in this moment, my livelihood is not at the mercy of my record. 

soon to be roommates

Strand

Burchett

Scott

Markwalder

(...)

this day was stacked. 

(surprise, excitement) 

i will soon be moving. maybe this time i will feel a sense of semi-permanence. 

(confession)

it is so always better to be honest, despite fear.

(examination)

images can rape. we must be careful. divorce is brutal. i think God grieves more than we do concerning these things. 

(prayer)

i surrender.

(confirmation)

after reading this blog, i know i belong at PCC.

(anticipation)

only for T. will i arise way too early in order to have coffee and wonderful conversation. 

exhale

darkness is as light with You.

the restaurant.3

NL: That guy at 115 is hot. That bald guy at the end of the bar.
BA: The guy with the glasses at 125?
NL: No, the bald guy.
BA: Oh! I thought you said 'The tall guy.'
NL: No. I have a thing for bald guys, though. I know, it's weird. I used to watch Mr. Clean commercials as a kid over and over again just for fun.
BA: That's really awkward.
NL: I'm totally kidding.
BA: He was pretty masculine, though. And you could tell he had a sensitive side because he cared about things being clean.

Bryn Abbot

Niki LeVoy

the restaurant.2

NL: For today's game, we're all going to be our favorite Disney character. I'm going to be Belle from 'Beauty and the Beast.' Who are you going to be?

BB: The hunter that shot Bambi's mom.


Brendan Bonner

Niki LeVoy