It's Gonna Be a Good Year: A January Slideshow

Would you like to see a very random slideshow?

Okay! (I'm pretending you exclaimed, "YES! YES!" with great enthusiasm.)

Music--First song: Last Year by Akron/Family

Second song: In the New Year by The Walkmen

Featuring: Conservatory Exhibit, Docklands Architecture, random shots around the city, a few quotes thrown in for good measure, and last, but not least, a few pictures from our most recent trip to a few beaches on the Great Ocean Road! I am really kicking myself for not getting any pictures of Jason in the wet suit we rented for surfing. He looked adorable! I promise I will get some next time.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Magnificent with Being!

Still by A. R. Ammons

I said I will find what is lowly

and put the roots of my identity

down there:

each day I'll wake up

and find the lowly nearby,

a handy focus and reminder,

a ready measure of my significance,

the voice by which I would be heard,

the wills, the kinds of selfishness

I could

freely adopt as my own:

but though I have looked everywhere,

I can find nothing

to give myself to:

everything is

magnificent with existence, is in

surfeit of glory:

nothing is diminished,

nothing has been diminished for me:

I said what is more lowly than the grass:

ah, underneath,

a ground-crust of dry-burnt moss:

I looked at it closely

and said this can be my habitat: but

nestling in I

found

below the brown exterior

green mechanisms beyond the intellect

awaiting resurrection in rain: so I got up

and ran saying there is nothing lowly in the universe:

I found a beggar:

he had stumps for legs: nobody was paying

him any attention: everybody went on by:

I nestled in and found his life:

there, love shook his body like a devastation:

I said

though I have looked everywhere

I can find nothing lowly

in the universe:

I whirled though transfigurations up and down,

transfigurations of size and shape and place:

at one sudden point came still,

stood in wonder:

moss, beggar, weed, tick, pine, self, magnificent

with being!

Before you go thinking that I'll make a good mother, consider this:

You know what? I'm just gonna say it. Sometimes it's scary being me. Sometimes, I really wonder how I've gotten this far in life without burning down anyone's house or permanently injuring myself or anyone else. Writing that post yesterday had me thinking about how much I want to be a parent, it had me daydreaming about wanting to give a plastic train to sweet little ungrateful Johnny someday. "Ahhh, it will be so wonderful to be a parent someday," I sat thinking, completely absorbed in my own little world. There were these sweet thoughts being played in the backdrop of my mind, along with some French sounding accordion/piano music, images of me and Johnny skipping in the park as I wondered to myself: "Will I be a good mother?..."

Meanwhile, Jason steps out of the shower and shouts to me, "Hey, are the cookies ready?"

(insert here the sound of a record player being abruptly stopped. you know, the needle on the record scratching sound...)

GASP!!! "The cookies!!!"

Inner voice as I run to the kitchen: Yeah, the cookies, doofus brains. Remember? The ones you put in the oven about 17 minutes ago?

As I stood over the blackened cookies, my head and heart sank as I realized the obvious answer to that rhetorical question I asked myself earlier is, "NO!" Seriously, guys, how is it that respectable, reasonable families have allowed me to be a nanny to their children? How can I ever expect to successfully raise children when I can put cookies in the oven one minute and completely forget that they exist the next minute? What if I do that with my children? What if I go into my own little world and just plain forget that not only do they exist but that I am supposed to be taking care of them? As I stood there sulking, I asked Jason, "Why do you suppose my brain is made of mush?"

"It's not made of mush, Tracy. You have a beautiful mind, you just have no control over it."

Sigh. Pout. Sigh.

I know what you're thinking, at least those of you who don't know me so well, (the ones who do are like, "Uhhh, duhh, we already know you are a space cadet and we are all also wondering how it is you've made it this far in life...") geez, it's just a few burnt cookies, don't beat yourself up about it. But, really these cookies represent just one tiny ant in the gigantic ant colony that is my flightiness. I really struggle with staying in the moment and staying out of my crazy whirlwind brain sometimes. How do you do it? I really want to hear some words of wisdom from you. My future children are counting on you, so make it good. (No pressure, though;)

A Christmas Morning Sunset Sky/ Thank you to Mom & Dad & God for this Love.

So, here I am, just walking through my day, strolling through my life, like today is just today, big deal, la dee da! and God goes and sneaks in this sunset the way parents sneak in Santa's present while unsuspecting children sleep. I walk outside and all of a sudden, it's Christmas morning:

And then it's like, how can I ever rightfully say this life is lame after something like that? I mean, how could I ever say an unkind word without being a complete asshole? But I don't actually think God is trying to guilt me into being happy, nor do I think parents are trying to guilt their children into being good....well, maybe a little. But mostly, I think they're saying something closer to this: "Hey, little Johnny, you know how this little plastic train makes your eyes light up and puts a smile on your face and makes you think that life couldn't possibly get any better? Well, that's what you do for us. You couldn't possibly understand our Love for you, nor could we explain it, so we'll just give you this train for now and not even take the credit for it and watch you revel in its magic, with the hope that someday you will know that this is Love." Folks, I wish I could express to you how little I know, how much I am still that clueless little ungrateful child on Christmas morning with no idea how much my parents love me. But if there is one thing I know, it is that...

This:

is Love.

Cats and Cyborgs are Funny!

Follow this link if you want to laugh your ass off:

http://www.urlesque.com/2010/01/19/cat-conversations-videos/

Jason and I watched those videos this morning and almost laughed our faces off. We haven't laughed that hard since, well, since last night when we watched Saibogujiman kwenchana, aka I'm a Cyborg, But That's Ok, a 2006 film from South Korea which combines two of my favorite things in the world, hilarity and weirdness. Jason and I think Chan-wook Park is an absolute genius! Watch it if you're weird.

HAVE A FUNNY DAY, OKAY?!!!

Paparazzi for the Non-Famous/More Than My Own/Ramblings: Have you noticed how long-winded I'm getting?

I love taking candid photographs of other people without their knowledge (whoops!) and then posting them on the internet without their permission (whoops!) But before you go suing me, let me at least explain. For one, this little hobby of mine satisfies, at least in part, my childhood dream of becoming a private detective. My sister and I used to get out our Mom's badass binoculars and spy on people in an attempt to catch glimpses of neighboring lives through windows until our Mom caught us and said we shouldn't do that anymore. Later, my friend Amanda and I would go into alleyways with walkie talkies, doing investigative work, gathering clues, making up stories about the lives of the people we came across. It was soooo much fun! I really like being sneaky. I used to play this little sneaking game with Champ, the family dog. You see, she was very sharp in her prime, with the most keen sense of hearing. She could hear my Dad coming home in our family's little blue volkswagen bug when he was still a mile away from pulling in the driveway. Granted, that car was very loud, but still, it was impressive. So, I played this little game where I would wait until she fell asleep and then try very hard to exit the room without her waking up, tiptoeing ever so slowly and softly. It hardly ever worked, I'm telling you that dog had amazing ears. Somehow, though, it was really fun for me. (I'm easily entertained.) These days I get my kicks (whilst improving my sneaking skills) by trying to take pictures of strangers without them realizing that I am taking their picture. The main reason I do this, though, is that I like the idea of capturing little moments in other people's lives. Some people may think it is obtrusive and unkind, but I see it as a way of honoring the existence of others. I've always been curious about the lives of others. So, when blogs came along I was in hog heaven. I love getting little glimpses into other people's lives, hearing their stories, their triumphs and struggles. I think blogging promotes connectivity and empathy, which in my opinion, are always good things. I remember when I first found Ruth how excited I was just to know that she was in the world. Seriously, you can ask Jason if you don't believe me. I always tell him stories about Ruth like I'm talking about my best friend. "Lesley's getting married!" "Jason, did you know that Don has never walked through a door ahead of Ruth? Isn't that just the sweetest thing? Also, how come you don't do that?" It's so easy to get caught up in our own lives and to focus too much on ourselves. I think the more we know about each other, the more we are aware of each other, the easier it will be for us to get along. It's so easy, especially in a city like Melbourne, to begin to see others as nuisances. Sometimes, you just want to get where you're going and don't want to be bothered by the guy on the corner asking for money, by the charity worker asking for a moment of your time, by the old man with the cane holding up the show. Seriously, it takes some mad maneuvering just to get down the sidewalk sometimes. But I really think it's important, especially as our planet gets more and more densely populated, that we not see others as nuisances, as abstractions, as means, but always, always, always as an end, as whole people who have just as much of a right to be here as you. So, I like to do a lot of people watching and a lot of candid stranger picture taking to remind myself of you and you and you and to get my mind off me, me, me. So, that's why I do it, okay? Please don't be mad at me. I do it because I love you.

What is the greatest gift?

What is the greatest gift?

Could it be the world itself-the oceans, the meadowlark,

the patience of the trees in the wind?

Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?

Something else-something else entirely

holds me in thrall.
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a life -courteous, intelligent-

that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a soul-your own, no one else's-

that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours

more than my own.

-Mary Oliver

P.S. This reminds me, if you haven't seen the film, The Lives of Others, I think you probably should.

Polish Poet, Possibilities, and Poems of Preferences

I had the recent pleasure of coming across the poetry of Wislawa Szymborska. She won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996. You should totally check her out. She wrote the following poem:

Possibilities

I prefer movies.

I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people
to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain
that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems
to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love's concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms' fairy tales to the newspapers' front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven't mentioned here
to many things I've also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.

I liked the idea and decided to try writing one of my own. It was really fun! I think you should try it, too. Just so you know, this is taking a lot of nerve to post mine right after hers.

I prefer natural light.

I prefer not to watch the news.

I prefer Love over everything else.

I prefer a cabin in the woods or a farmhouse in the hills.

I prefer to listen.

I prefer to sing.

I prefer possibility and chance over control.

I prefer to trust.

I prefer hand-washing the dishes.

I prefer clotheslines to dryers.

I prefer being comfortable over looking good if I must choose, but really,

I prefer both.

I prefer blending in to standing out.

I prefer not to be put on the spot.

I prefer hugs over kisses.

I prefer Jason by my side.

photo by Emily Chastain

I prefer my feet to stay on the ground.

I prefer the sound of a wolf howling or a child laughing.

I prefer open windows and open doors.

I prefer West Texas sunsets to any other.

I prefer having my friends and family near.

I prefer the absurdity of belief to the absurdity of unbelief.

I prefer not to use umbrellas.

I prefer not to eat meat.

I prefer gnomes.

I prefer Mary Oliver poems.

I prefer picnics to fancy dinners.

I prefer rivers.

I prefer getting my hands dirty to keeping them clean.

I prefer spontaneity to plans.

I prefer trees to buildings.

I prefer wonder to expectation.

I prefer idleness to busyness.

I prefer not to be be told what to do and not to be rushed.

I prefer silliness and Dr. Seuss.

I prefer that you like me.

I prefer that I like you.

I prefer the gift of words to the gift of things.

I prefer not to confront.

I prefer peanut butter on my pancakes and waffles.

I prefer coffee black and Christmas white.

I prefer Saint Francis to any other Saint.

I prefer not to bake the cookies all the way.

I prefer dogs to cats if I must choose, but really,

I prefer both.

I prefer the morning.

I prefer that people have no more than two children.

I prefer Democrats and butterfats and not to deal with bureaucrats.

I prefer Granny Smith apples and crisp fall days.

I prefer keeping in mind how small I am.

I prefer kindness.

I prefer to dance.

I prefer that people stop using God as a way to justify hate.

I prefer that people accept others who are different from themselves.

I prefer that people not think they are saved and others are condemned to hell.

I prefer to think that heaven and hell are places we build in this life.

I prefer to build heaven.

Anyone who reads this whole thing must really love me.

Okay, first of all I would like to clear something up. So, the other night as I lay not sleeping, it suddenly occurred to me that people might be taking my Blogger name the wrong way. Lovely You. For some reason, I randomly realized that people might be thinking that what I mean by that is that I am a lovely version of you, like you, only lovelier. Oh dear, d-d-d dear, dear! It was a mortifying Piglet moment because that is not what I mean at all, and I hate to think of people as thinking of me as arrogant because I absolutely abhor arrogance. It's just the worst. So please, allow me to explain (or try to at least) what I really mean by lovelyyou and thegoodinyou. It might be a little long-winded, please bear with me. I would also like to preface this by saying that I realize my writing doesn't always reflect these ideas. Sometimes I am negative. Sometimes I complain. And sometimes I just write about cheese. But, anyway, this is the theory behind the blog. You see, I tend to agree with Cooley's Looking Glass Self, you know, the sociological theory that says we see ourselves through other people's eyes and that those reflections make up our ideas about ourselves. We are a mirror for one another. So basically, I want to reflect back to you the good I see in you, you know, all the loveliness in the way you smile and laugh, the light in your eyes and the love in your heart. And also, I think the more you focus on the good in people and in everything, the more goodness comes back to you. It's a reflecting back and forth. The more I see other people as lovely, the more I see myself as lovely, too. The more people see themselves in a positive light, the more they will see others in a positive light. I really believe that. I mean, haven't you noticed that? Haven't you noticed that when you are in despair, you see despair everywhere, at every turn, in every crevice of your life? And when your heart is full of Love, have you noticed that around every corner that Love is reflected back to you? I've noticed it, too. I absolutely believe in another sociological theory which goes along with the looking glass self. (Can you tell my degree is in Sociology?) It's called the labeling theory, and basically it says people become what they are told they are. People live up to the labels they are given, like a self-fulfilling prophesy. This is very evident in the public school system. The kids who are labeled as "gifted" nine times out of ten will go on to achieve academic success. (FYI: I'm that tenth kid.) The kids who are labeled at-risk or put in behavior adjustment classes will most likely continue to have behavior problems. Those labels become a part of one's self-identity, which is one of the many reasons negative stereotypes are so very dangerous. So, the theory applied here goes like this: if you tell people they are good, maybe they will be good. Back in college, I spent a lot of time studying and worrying about all the troubles in the world. I watched documentaries and read books about corporate greed and poverty and war. I focused too much on the not-so-good-in-you and ended up feeling not-so-good about myself and well, about everything. I felt helpless and hopeless about all the sorrow and grief and pain and evil in the world. It was just too much for my little co-ed heart. I'm quite sensitive you know. I ended up kind of hating humanity in a way for mucking everything up and hating myself for not knowing what to do about any of it. I think this time in my life is about being aware of all the goodness in the world. So, thegoodinyou is about seeking out the good and praising it. It's not about denying the problems of the world, just changing the focus from what is wrong with the world to what is right with it. It's about me and maybe you, too, (if you want) building up a hope and a love that is so strong that maybe some day I/we will have the courage to look hatred in its human face and love it, (the face, not the hate) instead of hating it back. If I've learned anything in my itsy bitsy life it is this: 1.) There is a lot of hate in this world. 2.) The way to fight hate is not with more hate. 3.)There is a lot of love in this world. 4.) The way to fight hate is with love.

Now that we've cleared that up, I'd like to tell you about some lovely people Jason and I met yesterday.

We went to a nearby garden to do some reading. I ended up reading about two pages because I'd much rather watch real people than read about made-up ones. (Most of the time anyway.) Don't get me wrong, I love me some reading! But even more than that, I love me some people-watching! I was watching some teenage boys practice their footy kicking skills. Then, a man came up to them and started talking with them and playing ball with them. At some point, the man noticed me watching them and shortly after came over to say hello. His name is Teddy:

He's from Ethiopia and happens to be one of the more charming people I've met in my day. His english is not so hot, so I didn't pick up everything he said, but have you noticed that sometimes you don't need to know what people are saying to know what they are saying? This was one of those times. When he met Jason, he immediately started referring to him as The Professor. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because he was reading a book or maybe because that beard of his makes him look professorly or something. I don't know. I just know I liked it. Anyway, he sat down with us and we had a nice talk. Actually, he talked. We listened. (We prefer it that way.) Teddy loves life. He is very positive. He says, "Everything go together." He was very discouraged when some people were getting in trouble near us by the Police for drinking and carousing in the gardens. He says people should be more respectful. "You have to be quality, man." He told us about the things he loves, of which there are many. Teddy loves James Bond. "Jimmy! I love Jimmy!" Teddy loves the Queen of England, the green grass, beautiful people, soccer, traveling, the sky, movement, the trees, communication...I could go on. He could go on and on and on. (He's a talker.) And before he left us to get to work, he said: "Peoples mind is honey. Peoples mind is diamond." Have you ever heard anything more lovely? I immediately got out my moleskin and wrote that one down. GOLDEN, I tell you, golden. I love Teddy. After he left, we noticed that the pubescent boys who were playing footy were suddenly sitting right beside us. (Teddy brings people together.) So, we ended up talking and playing with them. Together, the four of us climbed the Magnolia tree seen here behind The Professor:

One of the boys climbed to the very top just to get me this:

one of the last flowers in the tree. Isn't it GORGEOUS?! And I wish you could smell it! And isn't that just the sweetest thing that he did that for me? They were sweet boys, and although they call each other fuckhead and dickweed and other such names, I could tell they really love each other.

Anyway, it was a nice day and I wanted to tell you about it. I hope you're having a nice day, too.

For Love and Chocolate: The Day I Turned Tween

I'm going to tell you about my exciting day yesterday, okay?

Well, first I went to check out the Docklands, which is an area of the city that I had yet to explore. So, I went to this cute little playground for the purpose of taking pictures for this wee video I later made using iMovie to showcase an awesome sculpture I had seen in passing on the tram the other day:

(Click on it to watch it on youtube. It's a little chopped off here.)

Cool beans, huh? So then, after much exploration and picture taking, I started a very long walk home. On Collins Street, in front of Lindt Chocolate, I came across this scene:

"What the heck are you people doing?" I ask.

"Roger Federer is inside!!" they exclaim.

I gasp.

Believe me when I tell you, I'm no celebrity stalker. Truly, I think it's pretty absurd to put people on a pedestal like that, especially just for being good-looking or rich or good at acting or sports or something. They're just people, you know. BUT for every rule there is an exception: male tennis players are the exception. There is just something indescribably sexy about a man playing tennis. Ever since I was a young girl I have had a series of crushes on male tennis players. First, it was Pete Sampras. Then, it was Patrick Rafter, followed by a very short-lived crush on Andy Roddick. (I'm sooooo over him.) Now, it's Roger Federer. When I see that sexy Swedish beast of a man sweating as he swooshes his racket, I swoon. I swoon, I tell you. So, when I realized that Roger Federer (who is in town for the upcoming Australian Open) was inside of the building I was standing outside of, my inner tween came alive.

It turns out, Roger Federer is an official global ambassador for Lindt, a Swiss company. So, alongside all the other schmucks I waited for the chance to catch a glimpse of a star. It was so very unlike me, which is one of the reasons I think I enjoyed it so much. There was a great sense of camaraderie and excitement in the air. People kept coming up, asking what all the fuss was about. The British man I was standing by and I had fun messing with people. "Arnold Schwarzenegger is inside!" "Paris Hilton is in there!" "Barack Obama is here buying chocolates for Malia, Sasha and Michelle! We swear!"

Hee. Hee. I also had a chat with this guy, who led me to believe he was Roger Federer's driver:

After some time had passed though, the whole event came to a very anti-climactic end when some official looking people came out to explain that Roger wasn't even inside anymore. He had slipped out the back! That sneaky, sexy Swedish bastard made a chump out of me! So, in the end, all I got was this lousy piece of Federer chocolate from a guy wearing make-up and a funny hat:

(Actually it was delicious and I was thrilled about it!) And furthermore, it was very much all worth it because I also got this:

a glimpse of Roger's head. Swoon.

(Who am I?)

Learn, Learn, Learn!

-quote by Jiddu Krishnamurti

Let's Not Get Carried Away With Ourselves: Ass Pimples, Assholes, and Depression

I am one of the bajillions of people who suffers from bouts of depression. Many people are surprised by this because I'm pretty good at putting on a happy face so as not to concern or bring down others. And while I have a great propensity to happiness, I'm also quite good at being sad. Yep, from time to time old man sorrow knocks on my door, and for reasons I can't explain, I not only let him in, but I nourish him, giving him free room and board. He makes himself right at home, real cozy-like. And then darkness falls. That fugly darkness fills my house and I walk around in it, lie down in it, cloaked in pitiful, pitiful sorrow. I will admit there have been times I have sat crying in the darkness for hours on end, without really knowing why. It's pretty pathetic, really. One of the main reasons I started thegoodinyou is to attempt to thwart this little devil's next scheme to sneak up on me and to blind me of my own goodness and worth and of the beauty inherent in life. But really, it's wrong of me to make my depression into some mean other, into something I don't have control over. I still don't know exactly what I think depression is or what causes it. I know when it's upon me that I am quick to call it something I can't control. No doubt the effect of depression is a physical one, a chemical imbalance, but I am inclined to think that the cause is spiritual in nature. And let's face it, we are each responsible for our own spiritual well-being. I must accept responsibility then for my depression, for I am the one opening wide the door to my own self-pity. I read the following perspective, full of humor and humility, today and wanted to share it, not only for you who may struggle the same, but also, for my future self to read, in case old man sorrow comes a knockin'.

All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously."

At the time Switters had disputed her assertion. Even at seventeen, he was aware that depression could have chemical causes.

"The key word here is roots," Maestra had countered. "The roots of depression. For most people, self-awareness and self-pity blossom simultaneously in early adolescence. It's about that time that we start viewing the world as something other than a whoop-de-doo playground, we start to experience personally how threatening it can be, how cruel and unjust. At the very moment when we become, for the first time, both introspective and socially conscientious, we receive the bad news that the world, by and large, doesn't give a rat's ass. Even an old tomato like me can recall how painful, scary, and disillusioning that realization was. So, there's a tendency, then, to slip into rage and self-pity, which if indulged, can fester into bouts of depression."

"Yeah but Maestra - "

"Don't interrupt. Now, unless someone stronger and wiser - a friend, a parent, a novelist, filmmaker, teacher, or musician - can josh us out of it, can elevate us and show us how petty and pompous and monumentally useless it is to take ourselves so seriously, then depression can become a habit, which, in turn, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing'll go wrong and it'll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol' doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we're soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it's playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. That's why Switters my dearest, every time you've shown signs of feeling sorry for yourself, I've played my blues records really loud or read to you from The Horse's Mouth. And that's why when you've exhibited the slightest tendency toward self-importance, I've reminded you that you and me - you and I: excuse me - may be every bit as important as the President or the pope or the biggest prime-time icon in Hollywood, but none of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves. Preventive medicine, boy. It's preventive medicine."

"But what about self-esteem?"

"Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory."

-Tom Robbins, from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates

So, I hope you don't mind my using this blog as a sort of preventative medicine and as a reminder of who I am in the light. This blog is, in part, my way of reminding myself: Your cup is full, fool!! Now, God forbid I should fall again into that pity pit of despair. But, just in case I do, I will have this entry to look back on, to remind myself that I am a mere pimple on the ass-end of creation, to remind myself:

And after I do, I'm sure I'll feel much better.

"Hold on to what you believe in the light

when the darkness has robbed you of all your sight."

-Mumford & Sons lyrics

Wanna hear that song?

Okay!

The rest of the lyrics are not entirely pertinent to this post,

but still, it's a good song:

"Bring me the sunset in a cup." -Emily Dickinson

A sunset in the summer in the city is a sight to behold,

a site, like your life,

which is being built and unbuilt

before your very eyes, being so freely found

and just as easily lost

e-v-e-r-y s-e-c-o-n-d

it draws closer to its death

and yet also, to its rebirth.

Don't you just want your life to unfold like that?

Like a sunset being pulled to its own end,

not with fear but with changing beauty and steadfast grace,

accepting with gladness that every last drop of color within it

is a gift which must be given back.

And so, with joy!

let us take stock of what we have,

and then spread it out like a feast.

Let go of your life every day,

like a last supper summer sunset.

Look closely

at those colorful souls around you

as if they were a sunset in a cup,

and then drink up.

-me

Good day to you all. I thought that maybe, in the bleakness of winter, you could use a little reminder of your own color and light. Love you!!!

Remember the Way You Are All Possibilities

Chrissy, this poem makes me think of you and your journey of a thousand miles, which, as you well know, begins with a single step.

Mameen

Be infinitessimal under that sky, a creature
even the sailing hawk misses, a wraith
among the rocks where the mist parts slowly.
Recall the way mere mortals are overwhelmed
by circumstance, how great reputations
dissolve with infirmity and how you,
in particular, live a hairsbreadth from losing
everyone you hold dear.

Then, look back down the path as if seeing
your past and then south over the hazy blue
coast as if present to a wide future.
Remember the way you are all possibilities
you can see and how you live best
as an appreciator of horizons,
whether you reach them or not.
Admit that once you have got up
from your chair and opened the door,
once you have walked out into the clean air
toward that edge and taken the path up high
beyond the ordinary, you have become
the privileged and the pilgrim,
the one who will tell the story
and the one, coming back
from the mountain,
who helped to make it.

-- David Whyte
from River Flow