Sunday, November 29, 2009
yes or no
Over Thanksgiving break I've read a book and watched a few movies that all deal with romantic relationships with one question that keeps coming up in each story line: is love enough? And to be honest, I don't know the answer.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
clearly
Today I was asked by a ten year old boy if I represent the Bloods (i.e. infamous street gang). I was wearing red glasses, a red scarf, and red TOMS. Welcome to the Westside.
perfect reminder of my purpose
A handwritten note left on my desk from my boss on stationary paper that says "You Make A Difference":
Laura,
Thank you for everything you do. Your free spirit and passion to help others is what drew my interest in you. Your sweet personality and kind heart is something our kids want and need in a case manager because they don't always experience this at home. This is more valuable than knowing the information needed to go to college. This is something you have in you, the other stuff can be learned. Transition in to anything is not easy, especially when its moving to a new job and growing program. Growth is an up-and-down rollercoaster and I think you are doing well adjusting to it. Several people in this organization have an interest in you - and that's to make sure you succeed. Take that with pride because I can't say that of everyone. Keep up the work and effort, I promise things will get better. I am proud to have you on my team.
-Jen
Laura,
Thank you for everything you do. Your free spirit and passion to help others is what drew my interest in you. Your sweet personality and kind heart is something our kids want and need in a case manager because they don't always experience this at home. This is more valuable than knowing the information needed to go to college. This is something you have in you, the other stuff can be learned. Transition in to anything is not easy, especially when its moving to a new job and growing program. Growth is an up-and-down rollercoaster and I think you are doing well adjusting to it. Several people in this organization have an interest in you - and that's to make sure you succeed. Take that with pride because I can't say that of everyone. Keep up the work and effort, I promise things will get better. I am proud to have you on my team.
-Jen
Monday, November 23, 2009
TheNotebook
I'm currently reading Nicholas Spark's The Notebook. I've seen the movie a few times; the first time being with Carla who made me laugh throughout the entire movie, while the most recent time was me crying like an emotional mess at every to-be-expected moment by myself. But reading the actual story of The Notebook has been an entirely different, cathartic, and difficult experience. I already know the story as told through film, but as words on paper the story births a push and tug that engulfs my own heart.
I read between the lines with every thought and feeling expressed by Noah and Allie. It's as if this story is familiar to me in both words and actions. Gestures of romance. Poetic words of love. Uncertainty of reciprocated feelings. Doubt of possessing that love again. I'm comforted to read an account of love (fictitious or not) that struggles but ultimately survives.
The love between Noah and Allie is intense and pure. It refuses to accept society's circumstances that suggests their love isn't worth the fight and continuously battles through obstacles that challenge what is felt from the inner core of each lover's soul. I'm learning, bit by bit, word by word, in the hopes...of writing my own account of a love so damaged and broken but intense and pure. I believe I'll have a story to tell. I'm just waiting to know the ending and epilogue.
I read between the lines with every thought and feeling expressed by Noah and Allie. It's as if this story is familiar to me in both words and actions. Gestures of romance. Poetic words of love. Uncertainty of reciprocated feelings. Doubt of possessing that love again. I'm comforted to read an account of love (fictitious or not) that struggles but ultimately survives.
The love between Noah and Allie is intense and pure. It refuses to accept society's circumstances that suggests their love isn't worth the fight and continuously battles through obstacles that challenge what is felt from the inner core of each lover's soul. I'm learning, bit by bit, word by word, in the hopes...of writing my own account of a love so damaged and broken but intense and pure. I believe I'll have a story to tell. I'm just waiting to know the ending and epilogue.
why today was a good day at work
I played kickball for an hour and a half and played dodgeball for two hours. Working with kids has its perks...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
chipsy girl
I have split thoughts, split intentions, and split decisions to consider during the next few weeks. My heart and purpose and happiness will all be questioned and I'm hopeful they'll respond with clear answers. There will come a time to bravely face the next fork in the road. Which way will I choose? Or better yet, which way will I be lead? And so it begins...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Poetic Wise Words from one Mees Rachel G.
dance naked in the rain every single chance you get.
one of the perks of having a privacy fence is just that: privacy.
in the small scope of this life, you will be born a thousand times, but you only have to die once.
letting the rain wash you into the next iteration is important, as important as the waters that washed over you as you were born fresh into the world, mother-naked and blinded by the light, squalling and covered in remnants of a life you will never remember. this dance is important. the steps don't make any difference, nor does the color of paint, or the words and worlds you paint with them. but the dancing is important-vitally so.
you will dance, just like rumi said, in your blood and your bandages. you will be reborn and learn that God forgives you completely, just like Jesus said. you will look at the world in wide-eyed wonder, like you've never seen it before, smelling polyphenols and ozone, and hoping to God that the neighbors aren't up late and looking out their top story windows. but there's a part of you that could care less if they do see you. this is your experience. this is your dance, and there's never been one like it, and there will never be anything close to it, ever again. self-consciousness is a burden too heavy to bear when you're in that alone and not-alone place with God. you will shed old skin, and understand snakes in a way you thought impossible.
when you find yourself dancing, you will realize that you don't believe in words like "impossible", or "war". the only things you think of, the only mantra you can find, the only words that will escape your lips will be all about love, mercy, peace, and hope. the rest of the words don't mean anything, in that context. when you dance, you will know that simple and complicated fact down to the bottoms of your bare feet, caressed by the darkening mulch, making those red toenails you sport 365 days out of the year jump out darker in the contrast. you'll dance to the music you love, whether it's coming from your stereo, or rumbling out of the sky.
this is your communion. this is your holy moment. these are the words of institution. this is your wailing wall, your holy of holies, your tabernacle, your mt. horeb, your singing praises on trail out of babylon. and it won't matter that some people will think you are a heretic, an exhibitionist, a crazy. because when you dance naked in the rain, it all makes sense. all the colors bleed to green and gray, to black and silver, and darkest blue, and the color of water that holds them all together, and even at night, you can imagine the rainbow of promise that is lingering and wooing the world back to wholeness, somewhere. when you dance, you put to sleep all the nay-sayers, the down-keepers, the ancient and unrequited love, and the longing for small children of your own. when you dance, you know that you are what God made you to be--unique, free, happy, grateful, redeemed, adorded, forgiven, loved, and at peace. the rest of what you might or might not ever be doesn't even start to matter while your feet are moving and your body is swaying. this a good thing to know.
rain is forcasted all week. blessed be.
mil besos,
rmg
one of the perks of having a privacy fence is just that: privacy.
in the small scope of this life, you will be born a thousand times, but you only have to die once.
letting the rain wash you into the next iteration is important, as important as the waters that washed over you as you were born fresh into the world, mother-naked and blinded by the light, squalling and covered in remnants of a life you will never remember. this dance is important. the steps don't make any difference, nor does the color of paint, or the words and worlds you paint with them. but the dancing is important-vitally so.
you will dance, just like rumi said, in your blood and your bandages. you will be reborn and learn that God forgives you completely, just like Jesus said. you will look at the world in wide-eyed wonder, like you've never seen it before, smelling polyphenols and ozone, and hoping to God that the neighbors aren't up late and looking out their top story windows. but there's a part of you that could care less if they do see you. this is your experience. this is your dance, and there's never been one like it, and there will never be anything close to it, ever again. self-consciousness is a burden too heavy to bear when you're in that alone and not-alone place with God. you will shed old skin, and understand snakes in a way you thought impossible.
when you find yourself dancing, you will realize that you don't believe in words like "impossible", or "war". the only things you think of, the only mantra you can find, the only words that will escape your lips will be all about love, mercy, peace, and hope. the rest of the words don't mean anything, in that context. when you dance, you will know that simple and complicated fact down to the bottoms of your bare feet, caressed by the darkening mulch, making those red toenails you sport 365 days out of the year jump out darker in the contrast. you'll dance to the music you love, whether it's coming from your stereo, or rumbling out of the sky.
this is your communion. this is your holy moment. these are the words of institution. this is your wailing wall, your holy of holies, your tabernacle, your mt. horeb, your singing praises on trail out of babylon. and it won't matter that some people will think you are a heretic, an exhibitionist, a crazy. because when you dance naked in the rain, it all makes sense. all the colors bleed to green and gray, to black and silver, and darkest blue, and the color of water that holds them all together, and even at night, you can imagine the rainbow of promise that is lingering and wooing the world back to wholeness, somewhere. when you dance, you put to sleep all the nay-sayers, the down-keepers, the ancient and unrequited love, and the longing for small children of your own. when you dance, you know that you are what God made you to be--unique, free, happy, grateful, redeemed, adorded, forgiven, loved, and at peace. the rest of what you might or might not ever be doesn't even start to matter while your feet are moving and your body is swaying. this a good thing to know.
rain is forcasted all week. blessed be.
mil besos,
rmg
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Chapter 2 page 11
food for thought from Dan Brown The Lost Symbol:
"The goal of tattooing was never beauty. The goal was change. From the scarified Nubian priests of 2000 B.C., to the tattooed acolytes of the Cybele cult of ancient Rome, to the moko scars of the modern Maori, humans have tattooed themselves as a way of offering up their bodies in partial sacrifice, enduring the physical pain of embellishment and emerging changed beings.
Despite the ominous admonitions of Leviticus 19:28, which forbade the marking of one's flesh, tattoos have become a rite of passage shared by millions of people in the modern age - everyone from clean-cut teenagers to hard-core drug users to suburban housewives.
The act of tattooing one's skin was a transformative declaration of power, an announcement to the world: I am in control of my own flesh. The intoxicating feeling of control derived from physical transformation had addicted millions to flesh-altering practices...cosmetic surgery, body piercing, bodybuilding, and steroids...even bulimia and transgendering. The human spirit craves mastery over its carnal shell."
"The goal of tattooing was never beauty. The goal was change. From the scarified Nubian priests of 2000 B.C., to the tattooed acolytes of the Cybele cult of ancient Rome, to the moko scars of the modern Maori, humans have tattooed themselves as a way of offering up their bodies in partial sacrifice, enduring the physical pain of embellishment and emerging changed beings.
Despite the ominous admonitions of Leviticus 19:28, which forbade the marking of one's flesh, tattoos have become a rite of passage shared by millions of people in the modern age - everyone from clean-cut teenagers to hard-core drug users to suburban housewives.
The act of tattooing one's skin was a transformative declaration of power, an announcement to the world: I am in control of my own flesh. The intoxicating feeling of control derived from physical transformation had addicted millions to flesh-altering practices...cosmetic surgery, body piercing, bodybuilding, and steroids...even bulimia and transgendering. The human spirit craves mastery over its carnal shell."
Monday, November 2, 2009
mix tapes
Mix tapes are funny things. I know that when I make a mix tape, I'm more times than not, extremely intentional in which songs I choose to include. In fact, when I applied for the TOMS internship and had to answer a question about what CD I would listen to during a long distance drive from Point A to Point B, I answered I would listen to "the most epic mix tape ever created". And after spending nearly an hour perusing my iTunes library for the perfect roadtrip jams, I created my hypothetical playlist which I'll chalk up to being the only reason I was offered the internship.
Mix tapes have power, definition, ambiguity, room for questions, hints at answers, heartbreak, encouragement, random joy, inside jokes, tender love and care. Mix tapes can be whatever you want or need them to be for both the creator and the recipient whether shared or experienced independently.
It took me nearly three days to create one of the most important mix tapes I have ever created. There was a larger purpose behind just sharing a couple songs with someone. I spent hours listening to every word in every song to see if it some how rang true with what I was feeling or wanted to say but couldn't. If I didn't have enough songs to tie everything together I researched songs that would be able to fill in the gaps. Every part of its creation was intentional and carefully decided upon. It had to be; it was going to do what I couldn't.
I completely agree with Hans Christian Andersen: "Where words fail, music speaks." And thus, the purpose of mix tapes...
Mix tapes have power, definition, ambiguity, room for questions, hints at answers, heartbreak, encouragement, random joy, inside jokes, tender love and care. Mix tapes can be whatever you want or need them to be for both the creator and the recipient whether shared or experienced independently.
It took me nearly three days to create one of the most important mix tapes I have ever created. There was a larger purpose behind just sharing a couple songs with someone. I spent hours listening to every word in every song to see if it some how rang true with what I was feeling or wanted to say but couldn't. If I didn't have enough songs to tie everything together I researched songs that would be able to fill in the gaps. Every part of its creation was intentional and carefully decided upon. It had to be; it was going to do what I couldn't.
I completely agree with Hans Christian Andersen: "Where words fail, music speaks." And thus, the purpose of mix tapes...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I-35
North:
I used to be a member of the "I've Cried on I-35" Facebook group. That stretch of road has been witness to a fair share of my upsets and tears. More than three hundred miles in four and half hours makes for a long drive of silent contemplation and unsuspecting realizations. Most of the time the radio can drown out most of what flutters around in my mind but my most recent excursion up the highway put me in a position to consider renewing my membership to that group. I suppose the actual drive time passed by quickly as I was primarily distracted by the nervous anxiety filling my stomach and the doubt creeping up my esophagus searching for an opportunity to become a vocalized fear. The "what ifs?" and "how comes?" controlled all brain function and in turn caused my tear ducts to respond defensively. It is quite a risk driving I-35 because I never expect to be smacked around by both my head and heart in such a concentrated time and place.
South:
I used to hate listening to Delilah on the radio. I would suck it up during the holidays because her particular station always plays the best Christmas songs, but other than that, I would avoid my tuner resting on her station in the evenings and I was vocal about my hatred for her happy go-lucky, do-gooder attitude. But crazily enough, I've needed to listen to her for the past month. She's become a comfort to me on my drive home from work. I can tune into 101.9 at 7 pm and know that she will be on the air delivering love songs and inspirational music for all occasions. Her music tastes and words of encouragement have helped me out of the funk of my most recent difficult days. And I wouldn't have begun listening to her if it weren't for a particular someone's adamant love for Delilah that at one point pushed my buttons. And I wonder sometimes when I'm listening her if that same person is listening too at the very moment in some other state. Both calmed by the melodies streaming from our separate stereos. Both being reminded of the past. Both curious of the future. Both.
I used to be a member of the "I've Cried on I-35" Facebook group. That stretch of road has been witness to a fair share of my upsets and tears. More than three hundred miles in four and half hours makes for a long drive of silent contemplation and unsuspecting realizations. Most of the time the radio can drown out most of what flutters around in my mind but my most recent excursion up the highway put me in a position to consider renewing my membership to that group. I suppose the actual drive time passed by quickly as I was primarily distracted by the nervous anxiety filling my stomach and the doubt creeping up my esophagus searching for an opportunity to become a vocalized fear. The "what ifs?" and "how comes?" controlled all brain function and in turn caused my tear ducts to respond defensively. It is quite a risk driving I-35 because I never expect to be smacked around by both my head and heart in such a concentrated time and place.
South:
I used to hate listening to Delilah on the radio. I would suck it up during the holidays because her particular station always plays the best Christmas songs, but other than that, I would avoid my tuner resting on her station in the evenings and I was vocal about my hatred for her happy go-lucky, do-gooder attitude. But crazily enough, I've needed to listen to her for the past month. She's become a comfort to me on my drive home from work. I can tune into 101.9 at 7 pm and know that she will be on the air delivering love songs and inspirational music for all occasions. Her music tastes and words of encouragement have helped me out of the funk of my most recent difficult days. And I wouldn't have begun listening to her if it weren't for a particular someone's adamant love for Delilah that at one point pushed my buttons. And I wonder sometimes when I'm listening her if that same person is listening too at the very moment in some other state. Both calmed by the melodies streaming from our separate stereos. Both being reminded of the past. Both curious of the future. Both.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
