new concerts and old friends

Items of further discussion which may/may not merit a comment:

1) My computer is broken. Which is sucky, because it contains every poem and paper I have written to date. Something that costs 1200 bucks should last longer than two years (damn technology).

One of the files on my computer is a presentation I'm doing tommorow. Which scares the hell out of me. Alas.

2) I'm getting better at my voice lessons. I stated tapping into my deep, rich voice lost years ago by teenage insecurity and discouragement. Hitting a difficult not is a great feeling, I must say.
Apparently the key to singing is breathing, and relxing one's face.

3) Today I listened to Ryan Adams (Love is Hell), Death Cab (Transantlanticism) and City and Colour (Sometime... new album coming out soon. woot).

4) Lifehouse is finally in town again. By in town I mean in Seattle, Feb 25th. They're playing at the Showbox, a venue so intimate you can see the hair on the artist's face. Its built right next to Pike Place Market, one of the most beautiful places I know, where you can sip espresso with friends in an artsy park overlooking a great mass of water.

I am super excited for this one.

5) I'm also seeing Xavier Rudd sometime soon.

So, that is my day. I have about 5 books to read, 3 papers to write, and severel memories to capture on paper in the next little while. Not to mention a piece computer than needs to work long enough to let me get my files. Bah.

I complain too much, evidently.

6) It was snowing today. At first lightly, then somewhat heavier. Now its lightly raining, turning dark. This is the first time, in a long time, that I don't care. This concerns me.

Somehow my daily life has turned into ignoring the beautiful aspects of snow, piling up on tree branches, covering the ground. Somehow in the mess of reading and writing I have disregarded something with strength.

I think what frustrates me the most is when things do work the way they are meant to... when life acts out of character. Things like computers, built for the sake of expiring after two years.

Sigh. Ok, I admit I have made too big a deal out of this. I need some kind of renewal, from dependance on finite things that prove unreliable. I don't need something more, as much as I need something with more depth.

Ok. I've said too much. I need to go do some reading. Or some conversing. Or something. This day needs rescuing.

Later

----------------

"...God, my soul needs setting free,
I can't keep up with this uncertainty."

I hide in my bed with the lights on the floor

I thought, since I finished a paper this morning, that I would sit around reading small portions of books online. I came across a story called "Ella Enchanted".... and I am in love! I now remember why children's books are so full of heart.

There is, indeed, a huge difference between being "childish" and "child-like". Being Child-Like allows you to find out something you didn't notice before.Like how fun sitting under a ray of sun next to couch can be.

the difference between fantasy and imagination- fantasy being the lesser of the two

a night
another fairy tale.
wash me in your
open arms.
lost. lost in
bridges, crossing
to the castle.

princess,
take my hand like
imagination.
another timeless night.
the air is
only moving verse.
green and soil,
gods and creatures of a
smaller narrative.

a night,
an amour of
enchanting parchment,
a paper dress.
paper covers, quiet skimming.
calm aroma,
new white pages.
the good stories are those that
open our arms.

-those that make the
same world more captivating.
those that brings us more
into life,
rather than escape.

PS- I think for Lent I'm going to give up typing out my thoughts online. ie- here, and FACEBOOK. I think that my habit of putting thoughts online has become less "every once and awhile when I have something good to say" to "all the time because I feel like it".

Alas. facebook is a lame place to leave poems lying around.

See you.

what the light was like

The days still feel like weeks, with this whole not eating thing. Which, in many ways, is only getting frustrating.

My roommates were both participating with me in this fast, and they both went off it yesterday (well, I kind of went off it myself, via the eating of two loaves of bread, but I decided to go back on). One of my roommates decided to clean house, eating every bit of immediately accessible food! (including peanut butter, orange juice, and some chili I made).

My other roommate bought a pizza. Evidently, we all suck at nutrition. In other news, I started singing lessons last week, and I am a horribly self-conscious person, prone to starting something, getting really good at it, then quitting because I start to feel too insecure... ever since high school (that particular list includes guitar, football, shotput, writing prose, and swing dancing).

This, I have promised myself, will not be one of those times. And now, a poem that has nothing to do with what I just said (until next time):

three small lights

my life is like three small Christmas lights,
(and many other things).
holding the house together with low glowing warmth.
keeping things together.

all our friends are getting married,
and I'll stay much the same.
I'll go on trying to be fine with my life,
always feeling about halfway there.

I'll be one who keeps the lights on tonight,
not the one trying hard not to cry.
even when clouds part, or light covers window,
and I'll find her soon, I know I will,
the unassuming girl in a white paper dress.

We'll wake up the same, though tomorrow I'm still single-
we'll pick up books and play words in the morning,
wake up next to metaphors and verse.
the tracing of arms and quiet hands,
the hiding and painting mystery in covers.

all my lights are making plans.
We'll all stay friends, then love somehow happens.
I'll serve coffee downtown, toss rocks at nameless shapes of water,
and I'll forget everything I've assumed about "beautiful".

We're all still trying to figure out what love is like.

I am still running

Before you read this, consider listening to this instead.

Still Running

A sunny day with blue sky. The sun, slightly warm, glowing in a light shade on the couch. These are the shades of waking up ten years old in a small bunk-bed, my room in a basement in Nanaimo, one of the 7 or so houses I lived in growing up.

A lot of this past year has been distancing myself from my childhood, but still gripping onto, trying to rescue, the child-like aspects that make simple things like sunlight so warm and loveable. There are a great many things of my childhood I am blessed to hold onto, things that the triviality of life will not erase. Working a 9-5, raising kids, paying rent- none of these things should ever / are not meant to replace the first flowers of joy our childhoods birthed. Rather, the rest of one's life is, ideally, supposed to be learning how to love old things like sunlight in new ways, finding something about sunlight we didn't notice before, for every new stage we live in.

I'll leave it at that... because I really am having a hard time finishing this thought (Tuesdays suck).

Lets talk about this in person, my two or three readers, most of which live too far away. Or... talk to someone else about it, until then.

Later.

Evenings

an insight on fasting: eating food and sharing community cannot be separated. Sharing food is essential to time spent together. Its interesting.

more or less / evenings

Pt. 1

a new CD to call my own,
something I haven't had in quite awhile.
I mass produce most of music collection.
I almost forget which parts were free.

And I forgot what I was going to do today
somewhere between feeling broken and two cups of coffee.
We seem to live in a state of unresolved sadness,
And that is the very thing that makes us human.
apparently.

My first cup since I started this,
something I haven't tasted since Sunday.
I can't decide just yet if this is numbing the pain or
if its just me trying to feel fine about my life
for once.

My head is spinning because of the coffee,
or maybe its the long night alone again.
Thieving and wandering in creativity.
listening just makes it easier living with myself.


Pt 2.

I read some old poems I wrote last year.
And I decided I might stop talking to "you",
a vague person I refer to.
I seem to forget who I'm talking to sometimes.
or I just like the idea of having someone to give words to.

I write much like I take adventures,
always wishing i could share the story, at that moment.
I don't want to keep all this to myself.

Pt 3

Its been a very interesting 4 years.
I'm different, but the same.
I still feel the constant need for love.
But now I'm starting to know why.

I can't stand to be this honest and still not feel confident.
I'm more a fan of feeling specific and concise.
I almost forgot I wasn't eating this week.
Somewhere between feeling unfinished and two cups of coffee.

another evening of friends with pizza would be nice
right about now. or when this thing is over.
A nice fire and some candles, some hot chocolate, a movie
and some awkward glances. We're both wondering how I feel.

...

I should probably get some reading done now, with all this free time. Let's hang out later.

- Adam

No surprises

Fasting, Day 3.

I was talking to someone about this fast this morning, and I found myself very discouraged afterwards.

Mainly because a) I don't know much about fasting, other than what I have read in books, b) I don't know much about poverty for the same reason, and c) The first two days have felt like a week.

The background story: Some students from my school started this partial fast to build a sense of community, and talk about poverty and agricultural issues. We meet once a day and each have 2 cups of rice and half a cup of beans.

Yes. this is not them most intelligent thing I have ever done.

So far, I'm feeling too weak to care about issues, and a little too hungry to concentrate. Thus the need to re-evaluate how I'm doing this... less tea, more OJ and water. One of the things I'm figuring out really quickly is how much free time I have, with all the not eating. Eating is pretty much my hobby.

I suck at nutrition. One of my goals for this week should, essentially, be to eat healthier after this is all done.

As well, I'm starting to appreciate bread a lot more, now that I can't have it for the next 12 days. Freshly baked break, broken with friends. Bah.

This will get better... as soon as I get some vitamins and juice. And as soon as I get my head together and figure out what this "not eating" thing is supposed to accomplish with the 30 or so students I am leading. What does any of this have to do with solving poverty, or doing anything of great consequence?

I'll get back to you.

I think, therefore, too much

Ok, seriously. When the only person that comments on my blog is a spanish spam advertising site, there must be a problem. gah!

(friends who do comment here, do not be offended. your feedback is appreciated. word).

Secondly, to my great shame this blog could have the least to do with my actual life. I'm sure that if you, who have never met me, you would be surprised (no, really).

However this works, I find when I write it has less to do with my daily life and more to do with venting deep unspoken thoughts. I probably I think way too much.

Just a quick thought I wanted to throw out there.

Thirdly, I'm thinking a lot about how I should not be chasing after ideals. In other words, my friends and I seem to chase after this idea of "home" a lot- what does home mean. And the more I talk about home the more I sense that home is as close as a loving relationship, a holding of someone's hand, or an hour devoted to slowing down and being with someone. Whatever.

I could either chase after some ideal my entire life- like the ideal wife, car, house, job, future- or I could stop, and ask myself "is there some way to find something I love about life today?". As opposed to waiting for all my ducks to be in a row (to use a cliche that is really funny to picture), to wait for everything to be together in my life.

So thats that. This journal is, in my mind, a poor representation of myself sometimes. I can't remember when it became a place for me to just vent... or be too hard on myself for that matter.

On a side note, my friends and I are starting this fast called the "least to survive" fast. Basically for the next two weeks we are only eating the minimum amount of food to survive- a cup of rice and some lentils once a day.

I'll definitely keep you posted on this one. Thank you for bearing with me, and all my random doubts and wonderings.

Later.

some comfort and some grace - reprise

I'm starting to think that this idea of home has to be about relationships.

A friend of mine wrote an entry about home on, of all places, facebook. He wrote;

"What is it that makes home? Part of it seems to be in my trust in God's faithfulness in His provision for me. There's certain peace that comes from knowing that the Father will take care of His son. No home would be complete without that peace We got onto the conversation about home". And so I responded, with this:

"maybe home is just about where find out who you are. where you feel most like yourself, the real you God intended you to find.

and maybe thats all this faith is. a bunch of people who feel lost, and are looking for belonging.

I have come to believe, with a lot of hurting and hope, that we find God in the nuances of our creative nature. God wants us to find out who we really are as humans beings because we are important... so stupid things like feeling hurt, heartbroken, or overjoyed are perfectly legitimate to feel.

home, then, is where you can feel safe to open up to change- where you can feel safe enough to go into the deep places of the heart where you find out who you are."

In one of my classes yesterday a speaker asked the question, why do we feel the need to rest? I started to think the reason we rest is to "be ourself". Rest is removed from trying to impress people, trying to win approval. When I rest it's as if I am acknowledging that who I am is important to someone else.

~

So, thats that. I was hoping to sit down, enjoy a relaxed morning and write calm prose. Instead I sort of woke up feeling anxious, unrested, worried. One of these days I would love to see all this stuff, all the thinking that comprises too many mornings wasted, unfold in the context of a narrative- a story told carefully, allowing the most held-dear insights time to unravel and grow.

I'm not, personally, a fan of stories that give you a list of dry details and events. I like those stories that are made to breathe.

I really need to just figure out how to find rest. There must be some magical formula behind this... Having my time better managed? Putting all my plans for this semester, including assignments, on paper? Spending less time inside? Reading a bit more?

Whatever. I'm not too worried. I owe you some prose.

Listening to:

Waiting

So, thats that I guess.

I took the greyhound (never again) home to Abbotsford today, and then got on the wrong transit bus twice. Then I walked home for two hours.

In Vancouver I;

1) Spent way too many hours at the Drive
2) Spent, also, way too much time on Burrard
3) Did not spend enough time at JJ Bean
4) Performed poetry at Cafe De' Soleil (randomly).
5) Visited Georgia O Keefe and Emily Carr at the Vancouver Art Gallery.
6) Drank a bottle of Island Lager on a cold and windy night looking out at lights of Vancouver across the ocean water. Beautiful.

7) Watched many a beautiful film: Juno, Garden State, Blood Diamond.

Now I'm home, and trying to adapt back to college life while toying with the notion of writing some good poetry. one of these days.

I'm planning my first concert this year with a friend, at a City Blends. If you really want to go, its Saturday at 7.

I learned more than I could imagine in a few days of traveling. Such as how to talk to a crowd instead of at a crowd when performing. And now I know less about home than before.

Which is humbling, almost enjoyable, a bit sad. I wrote in my journal yesterday that "It's God's gentle way of saying 'It's Ok. I have this all figured out for you. All you have to do is enjoy it"

So, this year is going to be a lot of that. Hopefully.

Listening to: Death Cab for Cutie - Transantlanticism
Reading: Traveling Mercies
Watching: Born into Brothels
Thinking: You (as always).

~

these snowy nights can remind me of my finitide,
gently tapping on my arm.
the smell of pine trees and cold air falls
and leaves like a faded holiday season lost of warmth and memory.
We'll look back fondly in a year or so.

The most beautiful and pure aromas have lived here with me,
pinned to my walls and the ceiling every morning,
every night I was praying for another today, another chance to get things right.