She lives alone.
She's got her t.v. and her telephone.
Young ones come here but they always go home.
This place is just a place to stay.
I saw a man
holding her look-a-like by the hand.
Fifteen years past, perhaps I'd understand
this place is just a place to stay.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
clips from our trip
Here's some footage from the trip that Bryna, Alaina, and I took to Rome. Yup, we got blessed by the Pope.
…and still I hold the pestle.
You tell me "rest" and wrestle
with me for the pestle
my hands are tightly gripping
knowing time is slipping
where I cannot ever find it,
put it in the mortar, grind it,
milk that time for all it's worth,
before with tears it's spilt to earth.
You let me cry and dry
the tears beneath my eyes.
My sight is slowly finding
love so bright it's blinding.
I can't see time that's been wasted.
It's all been worth what I have tasted:
milk and honey spoken sweet,
resting, grounded, at your feet.
Inspired by this cuadro by Velázquez, "Cristo en casa de Marta y María."
with me for the pestle
my hands are tightly gripping
knowing time is slipping
where I cannot ever find it,
put it in the mortar, grind it,
milk that time for all it's worth,
before with tears it's spilt to earth.
You let me cry and dry
the tears beneath my eyes.
My sight is slowly finding
love so bright it's blinding.
I can't see time that's been wasted.
It's all been worth what I have tasted:
milk and honey spoken sweet,
resting, grounded, at your feet.
Inspired by this cuadro by Velázquez, "Cristo en casa de Marta y María."
Monday, April 21, 2008
Rebecca and Rachel ride rollercoasters in the rain.
We were walking home in the rain together, talking. I noticed that if I angled my umbrella just right (concave towards the building and a little in front of me) it would echo my words back to me. Sweet.
The sky kept speaking rain to the earth and we kept talking. Something I said hit Rachel just right (in the poetic part that loves creation and relationships) and she echoed the feeling back to me. Sweet.
The blissful moment of being together and knowing just exactly what each other felt left us plunging into the abyss of knowing that this is just a semester. "I can't leave!" we agreed. Words could not express the agony of this impermanence, so we followed the example of the Spirit– we groaned. Audibly, pathetically, we interceeded each other's pain.
It was good to know that someone felt just as horrible as I did. It wasn't spite, it was a connection. Friends laugh together. Good friends cry together. Really good friends laugh and cry at the same time together. They ride together in the front car of the roller coaster with their hands in the air and when they turn a sudden corner, they don't mind slamming into each other, because it's a connection.
I'm digging in my heels, knowing that God's about to lead me to another place where I'm going to make a whole bunch of friends that I'll just have to say goodbye to. I've waited in line for this rollercoaster too long to not enjoy it. And I know I will. But if you´re going to sit in the front car of this roller coaster next to me, get ready to get slammed into just a few times. Because I know I can't hang on, but I'm still looking for connections.
The sky kept speaking rain to the earth and we kept talking. Something I said hit Rachel just right (in the poetic part that loves creation and relationships) and she echoed the feeling back to me. Sweet.
The blissful moment of being together and knowing just exactly what each other felt left us plunging into the abyss of knowing that this is just a semester. "I can't leave!" we agreed. Words could not express the agony of this impermanence, so we followed the example of the Spirit– we groaned. Audibly, pathetically, we interceeded each other's pain.
It was good to know that someone felt just as horrible as I did. It wasn't spite, it was a connection. Friends laugh together. Good friends cry together. Really good friends laugh and cry at the same time together. They ride together in the front car of the roller coaster with their hands in the air and when they turn a sudden corner, they don't mind slamming into each other, because it's a connection.
I'm digging in my heels, knowing that God's about to lead me to another place where I'm going to make a whole bunch of friends that I'll just have to say goodbye to. I've waited in line for this rollercoaster too long to not enjoy it. And I know I will. But if you´re going to sit in the front car of this roller coaster next to me, get ready to get slammed into just a few times. Because I know I can't hang on, but I'm still looking for connections.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Rome. And this isn't even the half of it.
a week in review:
Friday morning: take the bus to the ruins of a Roman city a few miles from my house.
Friday afternoon: lay talking to my friend Rachel under a palm tree for hours.
Friday night: "sleep" on a bus.
Saturday morning: miss an international flight.
Saturday afternoon: get to Rome anyway.
Saturday night: receive an email with the subject "Give the Pope a high five for me!"
Sunday morning: see the Pope. I gave him an air high five.
Sunday night: taste my first vodka. Quite likely my last.
Monday morning: read Romans in Rome while waiting in line to see the Sistine Chapel.
Monday night: find out that my family is moving to Ft. Collins after twenty years on Borchers Rd.
Tuesday afternoon: realize a half-a-life-long dream to visit a catacomb.
Tuesday night: attend a concert of opera in a beautiful gothic church and realize that the locals can actually understand the words.
Wednesday: lay on a black sand beach by the Mediterranean.
Thursday: eat tortillas, fish paté, and tomato sauce while sitting outside the Madrid bus station in the pouring rain.
Thursday night: email my family while sitting along a street in Sevilla and being passed by tipsy people in flamenco dresses.
Friday morning: type up my seven thousand word journal that I kept throughout the week just to keep me sane.
Friday morning: take the bus to the ruins of a Roman city a few miles from my house.
Friday afternoon: lay talking to my friend Rachel under a palm tree for hours.
Friday night: "sleep" on a bus.
Saturday morning: miss an international flight.
Saturday afternoon: get to Rome anyway.
Saturday night: receive an email with the subject "Give the Pope a high five for me!"
Sunday morning: see the Pope. I gave him an air high five.
Sunday night: taste my first vodka. Quite likely my last.
Monday morning: read Romans in Rome while waiting in line to see the Sistine Chapel.
Monday night: find out that my family is moving to Ft. Collins after twenty years on Borchers Rd.
Tuesday afternoon: realize a half-a-life-long dream to visit a catacomb.
Tuesday night: attend a concert of opera in a beautiful gothic church and realize that the locals can actually understand the words.
Wednesday: lay on a black sand beach by the Mediterranean.
Thursday: eat tortillas, fish paté, and tomato sauce while sitting outside the Madrid bus station in the pouring rain.
Thursday night: email my family while sitting along a street in Sevilla and being passed by tipsy people in flamenco dresses.
Friday morning: type up my seven thousand word journal that I kept throughout the week just to keep me sane.
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