Un novio? Que extraño.

"Love Poem"

Love Poem

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.


Anonymous submission.

John Frederick Nims

priorities

"we spend too much time worrying about what important people think, when we should be worrying about what people who think we're important think."

God is so good.

I told Josh tonight that during the sermon, I was thinking about what the pastor was saying about brokenness, and how this world is so broken, but some day it will be returned to perfect and "exceedingly good" once again. And I was reflecting on my own life, and how there are a lot of aspects that are definately broken and weigh on me, and a lot that are exceeding good. And Josh makes me feel less broken, which we all are, but is overcome-able.

Not very like me to tell someone that. More like me to think about it and say nothing.

Once you commit yourself by letting them know, you no longer hold the reigns. You're on level footing, and you've fallen, and now there's that fear that they won't. It's kind of terrifying.

But it's part of the beauty.

I love Neruda's XVII.

happiness.

there's a lot of it in the world. I know there is. but I'm getting kind of sick of watching these movies that just suck it out of me. se7en, requiem for a dream, the cell.

last night was a brief reprieve from that. we cooked at jenny's. and it was just nice because we didn't have to think about all of the crap going on. We could just cook (spring rolls, curry, etc.) and be happy and... it was great.

I left requiem for a dream in this haze that's hard to explain. this haze that said that life is horrible. that no one can escape just how bad it is. the look in jennifer connoly's eyes as the movie ended was haunting. it's what I always imagined hell would be like, and everyone's hell in that movie is just as bad as everyone else's... but her look was so terrified, so helpless, so "given-up," that it stuck with me. it made me want to leave and pray and lie under the stars, and just soak in the good of the world.

there's so much beauty here. just don't tune it out.

making the first move (breakdown)

30% of the first move is the intention.
23.4% is that tug in your heart
that says you really mean it this time.
5% is the voice in your head that says not to, not yet.
the fear he won't fall winning over.
8% beats the 5, telling you that he wouldn't have held
your glance for that long without meaning
something, right?
10% is doubt.
11.6% is when your heart skips a beat
as you lean over so that your cheeks so nearly touch
it's painful (4.15% is that heat between your cheeks
in the air that is very nearly not-air).
6.85% is that last breath you take
before he takes the last 1% of initiative
and touches your lips with his

and suddenly, the world is silent.
and percentages fade away.
and complete sentences drop into pieces.
and you're so glad, at the end
that he took the 1%

because he thinks he did it all
and you can't believe how long you waited.

what breaks your heart?

So, a couple of good points from church tonight that I want to fully work out in my head.

1) "A love for God is married to a love for people. When you divorce the two, you end up with zealots bombing temples and people doing mercy killings and a whole lot of hatred. It just doesn't make sense."

2) So, there are seven words in the bible for "praise." Hallal, which means to be "clamourously foolish," Yadah, which means "to extend the hand" and physically extoll the name of God, Shabbat, which means to "shout" for Jesus. Gil, which means to "dance and twirl around" with God, Taudah, which means to "give thanks for what God has done and what we think he will do," and Barach, to "recognize that God is the origin of success and blessing." There's a seventh one, but I forget it.

Point of all of this is that praise is so incredibly unburdened, undignified, about raising our hands up and dancing around and not shutting up and closing our eyes. That what I have a habit of doing. Not that it's less meaningful, but it's just... it's not what was meant by praise. And the thing is, there really is an internal (spiritual, I guess. I'm not really well versed in it yet) release when you throw up both hands and just say, "you know, God. I'm not here to win over the cute guy three rows behind me. because whatever. I'm here for you, and you don't care about any of this." It's always been hard for me, since I spent high school as that girl who criticized a lot of things. When you're critical, you cut your feet right out from under yourself. You give yourself nothing to grow in that's good; just a lot of things that you don't want that you hate.

Rylee told me today that Jack and I would never have worked out (for a myriad of other reasons, however) because he's really cynical, and really critical, and I'm really not. I kind of rallied to that later tonight, after that sermon. I'm really glad I've grown up past that point. Because when you're there, you feel like you're as grown up as you could ever be. And then you look back and laugh at yourself.

Also, I'm still totally hung up on this line. "The Greek word for worship is to turn and kiss. You can't talk when you kiss, so how can you talk when you're really worshiping?" Ahh. He's so incredibly right and this is so unbelieveably beautiful to me that it kills me. Like, the concept of a really, really deep and prayerful and "to the heart of the issue," facedown-sort of worship session is, really, more intimate than a kiss. Funny, because I can only just barely understand that. I recognize that, of the four (is it four? geeze.) guys I've kissed, I've never been as close with any of them, or even bordering on it, that I've been with God. And thank the Lord for that, because geeze, two of them definately turned out to be losers.

But, you know? Really praying? It's like kissing God. It's like getting your cheeks so close to each other without touching that you can feel the other person's face so strongly you can't take it. It's the "come close" feeling. Extravagant worship, extreme love. If I could highlight that second bit, I would. But I think this is sans boldface. Damn.

3) I haven't read the gospels in a while. Like, a couple of months. So when we flipped to Luke 7, this note (one of many) fell out onto my lap. It had this (and other stuff) written on it, "I believe in the God of miracles. However God breaks your heart, I believe he sends a message of love and peace, hope and life. Do you know how your heart breaks?"

I haven't seen this in a while, but the underlined bit, "do you know how your heart breaks," really jumped out at me like a knife. Because I'm one of those people whose heart breaks for a lot of things and a lot of causes and, mostly, for a lot of people, but this just made it so painfully obvious. What the hell am I doing? If my heart breaks, why am I not doing something? That happens for a reason. Pity is not without reason.

I am in love with Jesus. So much so that I want to go outside and sing and dance around.

Thanks God for refilling me and bringing me back home. I feel like I get in this cycle of not being as attuned to you one day, and then a little more the next, until suddenly, I feel like I'm in PA and you're in India.

Thanks for always being closer than my skin.

it's not like being fake, but rather,
you have an outward appearance that is as much a part of you
as the inside, but entirely different
and much easier to get to know.

it's like your cigarillos, que a ti te gustan tan mucho
and the (somewhat illegal) smoke that gets in my
eyes, hands, hair, shirt, scarf, neck
so that later, when I put my arms around myself
they smell like you want to smell.

but when you move in closer
for a hug, a grope, a punch in the face
[any emotion that's real involves a breach of personal space]
only then can you detect the slightest
smell of orange Dial soap, hidden but still present,
lingering despite your best efforts.

nous avons fait l'amour aveugle, mais,
it can still smell better than most.

(you'd've said yes, and then where would we be?)

soneto xvii

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
-pablo neruda