In first-century Palestine, there were two kinds of mustard plants. The first was cultivated in gardens as a small bush, and the seeds gathered and used for the household. The second was wild, and grew on waterbanks, grew up to fifteen feet tall.
A man plants a tame mustard seed in his garden, and a wild tree grows from it. And the birds come and nest in its branches.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
gin......
I'm slightly drunk.
So I'm blogging in the interest of self-knowledge, so I can re-read this in the morning.
Tonight my friend Brittany and I (Brittany is the one redeeming factor of my short stint as a bookstore girl), went to the Crocodile Cafe for a "listening party" of...well, hell, I can't remember, but it's by the Flaming Lips and it's four CDs meant to be played at the same time.
It was awesome, of course.
But it was weird to be back in the Crocodile Cafe, a place I haven't been for a year---and the last time I was there was for the "goodbye show" of a friend's band, and also a personal goodbye for me as I let go of all the feelings I had harbored for this kid for two years of my college life.
Oh, how much can change in a year. Really, you have no idea, and I'm not going to tell you. Last year was my 21st year, and I nicknamed it "the year of firsts". I'll leave it at that.
But, here I am, now 22 and doing so many things for the second time around. And it feels different, of course, to layer the past with the present, to compare them and realize that I keep changing and my life keeps changing and I can't stop or control it. I'm hoping I'm learning something, anyway. Even though I know at some point I'll have to un-learn it.
Anyway, my bag of microwave popcorn is empty now, and I'm going to bed.
So I'm blogging in the interest of self-knowledge, so I can re-read this in the morning.
Tonight my friend Brittany and I (Brittany is the one redeeming factor of my short stint as a bookstore girl), went to the Crocodile Cafe for a "listening party" of...well, hell, I can't remember, but it's by the Flaming Lips and it's four CDs meant to be played at the same time.
It was awesome, of course.
But it was weird to be back in the Crocodile Cafe, a place I haven't been for a year---and the last time I was there was for the "goodbye show" of a friend's band, and also a personal goodbye for me as I let go of all the feelings I had harbored for this kid for two years of my college life.
Oh, how much can change in a year. Really, you have no idea, and I'm not going to tell you. Last year was my 21st year, and I nicknamed it "the year of firsts". I'll leave it at that.
But, here I am, now 22 and doing so many things for the second time around. And it feels different, of course, to layer the past with the present, to compare them and realize that I keep changing and my life keeps changing and I can't stop or control it. I'm hoping I'm learning something, anyway. Even though I know at some point I'll have to un-learn it.
Anyway, my bag of microwave popcorn is empty now, and I'm going to bed.
Friday, October 19, 2007
quiet. ness.
It's not that I have anything to say in particular.
I just want to write.
Lately I've been thinking, about the gap between words and Reality, the space between all people.
And how my perceptions of others have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with me.
It is just me, and I have no access to anything outside of my perception, my emotions, my self.
Is this a revelation?
It sort of feels that way.
For a long. long. time,
I've been grasping for acceptance from other people,
as a prerequisite for me to accept myself.
To speak awkwardly, however, there is the issue of how to accept the acceptance of yourself by others when you partly find yourself unacceptable, to yourself.
And why?
By what absolute measure, and who set the measure?
So now I am sitting in a quiet house, listening to the rain.
In my head are strains of music that I've been playing on the piano,
and enjoying it.
In my head are bits of the conversation over martinis I just had with my roommate.
In my head is the realization that when people say "It's not you, it's me," they may think they are lying, but really they are telling the truth.
And every day, I feel like I'm letting go a little more, not of any particuler Thing, but of the act of grasping. Maybe this is action without desire? I have realized I don't even want the things I would have to strain for, to break myself for. I do not want to act out of fear, most especially the fear of people. Or the twin of fear, which is desire. Because desire always deals with what isn't. But I am more interested in what is.
The ever-changing what is.
I just want to write.
Lately I've been thinking, about the gap between words and Reality, the space between all people.
And how my perceptions of others have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with me.
It is just me, and I have no access to anything outside of my perception, my emotions, my self.
Is this a revelation?
It sort of feels that way.
For a long. long. time,
I've been grasping for acceptance from other people,
as a prerequisite for me to accept myself.
To speak awkwardly, however, there is the issue of how to accept the acceptance of yourself by others when you partly find yourself unacceptable, to yourself.
And why?
By what absolute measure, and who set the measure?
So now I am sitting in a quiet house, listening to the rain.
In my head are strains of music that I've been playing on the piano,
and enjoying it.
In my head are bits of the conversation over martinis I just had with my roommate.
In my head is the realization that when people say "It's not you, it's me," they may think they are lying, but really they are telling the truth.
And every day, I feel like I'm letting go a little more, not of any particuler Thing, but of the act of grasping. Maybe this is action without desire? I have realized I don't even want the things I would have to strain for, to break myself for. I do not want to act out of fear, most especially the fear of people. Or the twin of fear, which is desire. Because desire always deals with what isn't. But I am more interested in what is.
The ever-changing what is.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
the thing I heard.
Wisdom! I cried,
Wisdom in the midst of my foolishness!
And wisdom replied,
Hush, fool,
to hear me you must first be silent.
And the first thing to appear
was my loneliness
for I am always and ever and only here.
and all others, always there.
I am here alone
and wisdom said, Learn to be here, alone
For there is nothing else to learn
you may encounter another
and during this, still,
you will be here and he will be there
and after this, still
you will be here, and she will be there
and you will never know where "there" is.
and it seems to begin and end,
but to say "the beginning" and to say "the end"
is only to draw a line.
Undraw it. Draw it in a different place. Undraw it again.
For where does it end, or where does it begin?
There?
Or here?
Wisdom in the midst of my foolishness!
And wisdom replied,
Hush, fool,
to hear me you must first be silent.
And the first thing to appear
was my loneliness
for I am always and ever and only here.
and all others, always there.
I am here alone
and wisdom said, Learn to be here, alone
For there is nothing else to learn
you may encounter another
and during this, still,
you will be here and he will be there
and after this, still
you will be here, and she will be there
and you will never know where "there" is.
and it seems to begin and end,
but to say "the beginning" and to say "the end"
is only to draw a line.
Undraw it. Draw it in a different place. Undraw it again.
For where does it end, or where does it begin?
There?
Or here?
Monday, October 15, 2007
a very slight unease.
Damn damn damn.
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, I thought, really REALLY thought, I was in love.
I even asked my mother for advice.
But in the end, I didn't breathe a word of this to the one it actually involved. Because we were friends. I still think that was a good choice.
...He's married now.
Anyway...
I've always thought this was one of those experiences of my naive youth, that was mostly good and made me happy for a while and taught me a few things and didn't leave any noticeable scars.
But I think what it did was make me a good deal more "careful" with my emotions. And maybe that isn't such a good thing.
I feel like I'm on the edge of feeling something, but I keep trying to be logical. I force myself to think critically, to look at the facts, to adopt "to hell with it" as my mantra and not focus on someone who has not given me a single perceivable sign of interest. But all this does is keep me on the edge. A feeling, or a shadow of a feeling, is there, and has been there for a while, and I cannot get rid of it. So mostly I'm trying to wait it out.
It feels like it's been a hell of a long wait.
Damn.
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, I thought, really REALLY thought, I was in love.
I even asked my mother for advice.
But in the end, I didn't breathe a word of this to the one it actually involved. Because we were friends. I still think that was a good choice.
...He's married now.
Anyway...
I've always thought this was one of those experiences of my naive youth, that was mostly good and made me happy for a while and taught me a few things and didn't leave any noticeable scars.
But I think what it did was make me a good deal more "careful" with my emotions. And maybe that isn't such a good thing.
I feel like I'm on the edge of feeling something, but I keep trying to be logical. I force myself to think critically, to look at the facts, to adopt "to hell with it" as my mantra and not focus on someone who has not given me a single perceivable sign of interest. But all this does is keep me on the edge. A feeling, or a shadow of a feeling, is there, and has been there for a while, and I cannot get rid of it. So mostly I'm trying to wait it out.
It feels like it's been a hell of a long wait.
Damn.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
sacrament.
Tonight my apartment got sanctified.
I've been reading a book on Sabbath, by Abraham Joshua Heschel, and he talks about how objects and places cannot have spiritual meaning in and of themselves. They acquire meaning by being associated with sacred moments. For a place to be meaningful, there has to be the memory of the Thing that Happened.
And it's not that anything incredibly profound or story-worthy happened. People came. We had butternut squash lasagna and wine and strawberries with ice-cream. We were together. We talked. There were candles burning and lullaby versions of Radiohead playing in the background.
But that's all that needed to happen. A quote I wrote down from Heschel goes, "Sanctify the Sabbath by choice meals, by beautiful garments; delight your soul with pleasure and I will reward you for this very pleasure." The reward I got was the feeling, the assurance, that my apartment is now a place to be, a place where people relax and eat a little and talk a little and rest a little from all the distracting things of life, like work and school. I've realized more than once that this whole thing, of bringing friends together and feeding them, is my version of church now, because I still haven't found a church that feels like church. But this does.
I've been reading a book on Sabbath, by Abraham Joshua Heschel, and he talks about how objects and places cannot have spiritual meaning in and of themselves. They acquire meaning by being associated with sacred moments. For a place to be meaningful, there has to be the memory of the Thing that Happened.
And it's not that anything incredibly profound or story-worthy happened. People came. We had butternut squash lasagna and wine and strawberries with ice-cream. We were together. We talked. There were candles burning and lullaby versions of Radiohead playing in the background.
But that's all that needed to happen. A quote I wrote down from Heschel goes, "Sanctify the Sabbath by choice meals, by beautiful garments; delight your soul with pleasure and I will reward you for this very pleasure." The reward I got was the feeling, the assurance, that my apartment is now a place to be, a place where people relax and eat a little and talk a little and rest a little from all the distracting things of life, like work and school. I've realized more than once that this whole thing, of bringing friends together and feeding them, is my version of church now, because I still haven't found a church that feels like church. But this does.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
the things that don't make sense.
Oh, the complicatedness of life. And faith. Dr. Wall doesn’t do it justice.
I’ve been reading up a little on Jewish ideas of the messiah. It’s not a simple topic. And in a sense, it is a heartbreaking one. To actually read the accounts—the gathering of the exiles, the recognition of Israel’s God by all the earth, the fruitfulness of the ground, the end of war, long days of peace and prosperity, maybe even a new kind of existence where pain and death do not exist—to read such things, and to think of the thousands of years that have passed since they were written… It reminds of a paper I wrote last year, about how the traditional placement of Eden is in Iraq. Such beautiful visions, so very far away. Is the kingdom near? How can it be?
Obviously, there is much more to Judaism than messianic expectations. But, even without a messiah figure, there is still a strong hope for the gathering of the scattered and the exiled, for life on the land that was promised, for peace and fullness and fulfillment. Surely a good God who gives good things to His children would give these things to His people.
But the history of the Jews isn’t pretty. And the fact of Jesus hasn’t seemed to help them out much. You could argue the reverse, even—look how much persecution has come straight from the hands of Christians, with the convenient reason, “The Jews killed Jesus!” How ironic, if Jesus did see himself as the Jewish messiah, that such things should go on in his name. Can you call such things the birth pangs of the messiah? Or are they just the fucked-up actions and incredible cruelty of men? Of “Christians”.
So what does “Christian” even mean? What does it mean for us to call Jesus the messiah? Messiah for whom? And does our religion have anything to do with anything Jesus actually said or taught or did?
The more I read, the more I see, the more I wonder if the answer is no.
I’ve been reading up a little on Jewish ideas of the messiah. It’s not a simple topic. And in a sense, it is a heartbreaking one. To actually read the accounts—the gathering of the exiles, the recognition of Israel’s God by all the earth, the fruitfulness of the ground, the end of war, long days of peace and prosperity, maybe even a new kind of existence where pain and death do not exist—to read such things, and to think of the thousands of years that have passed since they were written… It reminds of a paper I wrote last year, about how the traditional placement of Eden is in Iraq. Such beautiful visions, so very far away. Is the kingdom near? How can it be?
Obviously, there is much more to Judaism than messianic expectations. But, even without a messiah figure, there is still a strong hope for the gathering of the scattered and the exiled, for life on the land that was promised, for peace and fullness and fulfillment. Surely a good God who gives good things to His children would give these things to His people.
But the history of the Jews isn’t pretty. And the fact of Jesus hasn’t seemed to help them out much. You could argue the reverse, even—look how much persecution has come straight from the hands of Christians, with the convenient reason, “The Jews killed Jesus!” How ironic, if Jesus did see himself as the Jewish messiah, that such things should go on in his name. Can you call such things the birth pangs of the messiah? Or are they just the fucked-up actions and incredible cruelty of men? Of “Christians”.
So what does “Christian” even mean? What does it mean for us to call Jesus the messiah? Messiah for whom? And does our religion have anything to do with anything Jesus actually said or taught or did?
The more I read, the more I see, the more I wonder if the answer is no.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
nerd.
So I've been sitting in the library for an hour and a half, listening to Sibelius' violin concertos and searching for articles on the phrase "son of man". I've accumulated a stack of books about messianism and jewish context. I am being sucked back into the rhythm of research and academic life, and I feel myself liking it. Mostly.
There is, of course, the sick thrill of taking an actual, physical book off a shelf in the library, and feeling an involuntary surge of hope that it will reveal some amazing thing, or that the reading of it will cause brain cells to spontaneously grow and swell with wisdom and wit.
There is the pitting of oneself against an article and trying to out-think it, to feel smarter than this published buffoon, whoever the hell he is.
It helps that outside it is cloudy and dull. And, that I haven't started my new job yet and have a lot of time on my hands. And, that I caught a ride to school with my roommate, and I can either keep myself occupied until she is out of class or walk all the way home.
But still. This morning I sat and listened to Dr. Lemcio teaching about the gospel of Mark, and as I listened to him I actually felt interested again in the words on the page. I didn't feel that way last night, when I was quasi-attempting to do homework, but that's beside the point. I think it has a lot to do with tempo, and that has a lot to do with this year as a whole. Sometimes I feel an inner rush, to reach the answer, now, to figure it out, to feel intelligent and quick. But I am learning to take my time. And it isn't that I want to plod along and waste time. It's just that I HAVE time, and few obligations, and I get to use it however I want and however seems actually beneficial to me. Because it's MINE.
The demon inside me is laughing with pleasure at having absolute power.
In the past I would always hit the point, a few weeks into the quarter, where I wanted to just give it all a rest and take a trip to Portland. And I never did, because I was frightened to death of missing a deadline. But I don't really have deadlines. The thesis will be done when it's done. And if I want to go to Portland, I'll go. Some might say that is a dangerous strategy for getting things finished, and it probably is.
But the thing is, I don't care.
MWAhahaha!
There is, of course, the sick thrill of taking an actual, physical book off a shelf in the library, and feeling an involuntary surge of hope that it will reveal some amazing thing, or that the reading of it will cause brain cells to spontaneously grow and swell with wisdom and wit.
There is the pitting of oneself against an article and trying to out-think it, to feel smarter than this published buffoon, whoever the hell he is.
It helps that outside it is cloudy and dull. And, that I haven't started my new job yet and have a lot of time on my hands. And, that I caught a ride to school with my roommate, and I can either keep myself occupied until she is out of class or walk all the way home.
But still. This morning I sat and listened to Dr. Lemcio teaching about the gospel of Mark, and as I listened to him I actually felt interested again in the words on the page. I didn't feel that way last night, when I was quasi-attempting to do homework, but that's beside the point. I think it has a lot to do with tempo, and that has a lot to do with this year as a whole. Sometimes I feel an inner rush, to reach the answer, now, to figure it out, to feel intelligent and quick. But I am learning to take my time. And it isn't that I want to plod along and waste time. It's just that I HAVE time, and few obligations, and I get to use it however I want and however seems actually beneficial to me. Because it's MINE.
The demon inside me is laughing with pleasure at having absolute power.
In the past I would always hit the point, a few weeks into the quarter, where I wanted to just give it all a rest and take a trip to Portland. And I never did, because I was frightened to death of missing a deadline. But I don't really have deadlines. The thesis will be done when it's done. And if I want to go to Portland, I'll go. Some might say that is a dangerous strategy for getting things finished, and it probably is.
But the thing is, I don't care.
MWAhahaha!
Thursday, October 4, 2007
marla makes a change
I started a post last Sunday, entitled "marla gets sacked" - but I decided against posting it. I've told the story a few times, and I'm through with telling it. So let the title be all you need to know. The reality is very complicated, a combination of who I am, who my bosses (well, ex-bosses) are, and the things that happen that are beyond our control but affect our emotions anyway. The owners of Epilogue seem to be having a hard time of it, at least right now, but I wasn't really in a position to help what needed to be helped. And I learned a few things about myself as well, and what happens when I get bored. How sad to be bored after three weeks of a job. It is good that I was fired, because I probably would not have had the courage to quit.
And today I got a new job. It will be at the Tutta Bella pizzeria, just above Whole Foods Market on Westlake, and I am excited beyond words to be working not only at a restaurant (and I've worked restaurants before, so I know what I'm getting into), but one committed to integrity and creating a community of good people around good food. It feels...new. It feels like I'm stepping into something that has a future, not something that is at best stagnant and at worst in the full throes of decay.
It is so nice to feel that your bosses are passionate about what they do, that they have a vision and are moving with it, and they expect you to know and share what that vision is. I think I've found some good people. In all of my soul-searching and job searching, that's been the very heart of what I've wanted.
More to come, I'm sure...
And today I got a new job. It will be at the Tutta Bella pizzeria, just above Whole Foods Market on Westlake, and I am excited beyond words to be working not only at a restaurant (and I've worked restaurants before, so I know what I'm getting into), but one committed to integrity and creating a community of good people around good food. It feels...new. It feels like I'm stepping into something that has a future, not something that is at best stagnant and at worst in the full throes of decay.
It is so nice to feel that your bosses are passionate about what they do, that they have a vision and are moving with it, and they expect you to know and share what that vision is. I think I've found some good people. In all of my soul-searching and job searching, that's been the very heart of what I've wanted.
More to come, I'm sure...
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