bind my wandering heart to thee

older thoughts regarding home

The paradox of home is that it changes.
A house stops feeling like home. You won't find wisdom unless you leave.
Sometimes travel turns to the mercy of arms holding you,
travel turns into something more than running away.

its not in beautiful spaces I made, or the pine tree mistletoe.
I should have spent an evening listening, tasting, relaxing.
4 years later and this is all I have;
solitude without love is just being alone,
nothing wrecks solitude more than seeing people,
and nothing hurts more than the weight of words unsaid.

these snowy nights ask me to stay awhile.
I say can't. And I don't have a reason.

~
Some complicated thoughts:

So, I'm going to live in this place for the next year or so, wheras one of my roommates will not. Thus, I am starting to find that, as I explained in a recent assingment, "if you share a room with a person you are having a conflict with, it can seem like you are sharing a room with the conflict itself".

I have been losing a lot of sleep because there is an excess of unresolved conflict in this place I am supposed to call "home". And I really don't have anything except this apartment to "go home to". I am frustrated this time of year because of this. The idea that change hurts, I believe, starts to become more real in the twenties.

It has been a difficult couple of weeks. A lot of this comes out of hours of trying to clean my house and relax.

In terms of finding a sense of home in my house, I'm almost there.

and here i rest

I decided to start a photo-journal this week. It is called, appropriately enough, Art is for the birds.

Who knows, I might actually keep it updated from time to time. We'll see.

In other news, I wrote this poem last month. Its about spring. I got to read it this morning for a chapel at my school, which was a great blessing. Take care.

rainfall

longing is the essence of noticing
something beautiful,
and wrestling with never staying the same.

here in an apartment of a friend:
3 potted plants on a window sill,
a green apple on a low cut brown table,
the sun reflecting shadows of a weeping vine on the wall,
distorted figures like a forgotten sense of faith,
a lack of trust in the senses when it comes to
something beautiful; love offered freely like water in a rainfall.

we hang around like second hand couches with covers,
listening to cars and typing keys,
like soundless pianos.
and with our hearts we long for a symphony,
and ode to belonging on a quiet afternoon,
something we have not prepared our hearts for.
We never say thank you unless life is good,
And we never say “save me” when life is fine

and I have felt it,
that pain of being slightly human.
It stays with me like an afterthought.
I should learn to say what I really mean.
or learn to mean something less confusing.

I feel a lot like saying “save me” too,
That is the problem with being so open;
I don’t feel fine when I lie anymore.
It hurts a lot being this transparent.

And all I have wanted to know is that I'm beautiful.
I can’t live without love, in the end.

ghosts and angels

ghosts

The cold shivers like ghosts
haunting melody, piano,
keys tie together as if sewn by hand.

how did I wake up today?
solitude is lost like artless prose,
beauty refuses to acknowledge our arrival.

I can hear her sing, faintly,
Clair de Lune,
odeless words sing like old sea shanties.
In early hours I listen for her voice.

What beauty do I have to call to now?
an ode is cast for no arrival,
no hands to capture this melody.

Why is grace to write songs given,
only to be left remote, unknown?

The breeze shivers like angels
haunting refrain, guitar,
strings resigned to quiet peace;

a maid-in-waiting humming softly in the night.

ruby don't go downtown, ruby come in and stay

umm.

damn. I sat down to type some profound thought, but I forgot what it was. bah!

So, life. Last night I put on an arts gallery here at CBC, and about 30 people showed up for conversation, all the while I was making sure a healthy amount of tea and coffee was made, and an even healthier amount of Ryan Adams and Belle & Sebastian were playing in the background.

I owe you pictures. My camera has been on the dead side of things. The picture posted above, for the time being, is a picture of "Afterthoughts"- a cafe I frequent with friends (girls) with images of italian people kissing painted on the walls. I took this picture ten minutes before closing time, after reading some wendell berry.

Everyone, by the way, should read "The Art of the Commonplace" at some point in life.

Tonight I'm hosting a concert for this guy. Thus is my continued life of planning arts shows, trying to suck less at public speaking, and trying to actually experience this thing called "life" I'm always talking about.

Now... if only I could remember what I wanted to say.

Your homework for this week is to listen to Jacob and Lily. I booked an outdoor concert for them last year at school, and it continues to be one of the highlights of my life. "Ruby" is really good.

Enjoy.

no I am not where I belong

For some reason I am way too wired to write anything intelligable, but I will try anyway just to bug you.

Some friends and I took a road trip to a place called "Naam" in Vancouver last night. It was a small vegan place, full of mostly artsy people (with the occasional tradesman guys there who looked really out of place). I must say, I was impressed. I tried a tea made mostly with nettle, peppermint (the kinds of things in my backyard which often fall prey to lawnmowers).

They had this cheescake there with an organic blueberry sauce, which changed how I think about blueberries. In general, actual food has those earthy qualites which almost turn tasting into experiencing.

...As opposed to simulated blueberry flavours, which try and pretend they taste like anything profound. Why eat fake food when the real thing is so easily accesible?

I think, too often, our cultural mindset tells us to go after something that looks like love, or something that tastes sort of like something that tastes good, rather than go for the real thing. Of course, the real thing just takes a bit more work and imagination, doesen't it?

Experiencing life could be as easy as standing outside on a rainy morning, or as difficult as dropping 2000 bucks to fly to some tropical fantasy. I dunno. This notion has always made me kind of cynical- which I don't like to be.

~

In other news, i feel a little down today. Its gray out, I have homework, and I have not payed bills in 3 weeks. Which is all trivial in the grand scheme of things.

This is what being in college is like, friends. Life is, as Anne Lamott described "Pretty good, some problems".

Later

we do know fear

So, apparently, there is an unwritten set of rules for blogging no-one ever told me about. Among them, all of which I have probably broken many a time, are:

a) Using too many commas
b) Discussing more than one subject each entry
c) Failing to unite a long commentary with a witty, slightly facetious, one-liner.
d) Using big words
e) Being either to honest or too vague
f) Creating a fake persona (as opposed to being the same person both online and inlife).
g) posting pictures of new-born children

Ok, so I haven't broken that last rule yet.... and I never will!

So... I'm not really up for trying to unpack how I'm feeling into a charming work of prose- as important as being completely honest is (I'll make it up to you). Rather, I'm going to leave you a list of movies you ought to see, if you haven't seen a good movie lately.

Once
The Dead Poet's Society
Babette's Feast
Lars and the Real Girl
Dan in Real Life
The Big Kahuna
Beyond the Sea
Good Will Hunting
Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (Hey, stop lauging. I like chick-flicks).
~

"Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another. Man, in his weakness and shortsightedness believes he must make choices in this life. He trembles at the risks he takes. We do know fear. But no. Our choice is of no importance.

There comes a time when our eyes are opened and we come to realize that mercy is infinite. We need only await it with confidence and receive it with gratitude.

Mercy imposes no conditions. And lo! Everything we have chosen has been granted to us. And everything we rejected has also been granted. Yes, we even get back what we rejected. For mercy and truth have met together, and righteousness and bliss shall kiss.

- Lorens, from "Babette's Feast"

- Adam

its been a long time

Two moments of epiphany that I came across yesterday:

1) The essential journey that everyone will take is to be noticed.

2) We are the books we keep.

And, PS- My house is very lacking in solitude right now. I'm trying to think of the nicest way to say "I think we need to move on" to my roommates.

PPS- I'm still thinking about Oregon sometime in May. Want to come?

We found our way into the afternoon

Some updates:

1) I finished my paper a couple days ago (A study on Hosea 11). It took way too long, and sections are written way too emotionally. Remind me never to try and express overt amounts of heart into a research paper. Ever again.

I'm just about done doing the editing now. I am, noticably, sick of writing. I did get to uncover some interesting insights on traveling with my paper. Its not too bad.

2) I spent my whole week paper-izing, thus avoiding the vices of romance, holding hands, and kissing under a long sun-set by the west coast ocean. Sigh.

I'm starting to realize, gradually, that life has it's joy whether or not the love we experience is romantic. I could be wrong.

3) Beirut is coming to Vancouver. I can't wait! Well... I can. Because I think my ex is going (bah!). Even so.

4) The picture I just posted is of my friends from Vancouver, Laureate. I'm hoping that, sometime In the next two years, one of these guys will be able to hook me up with a job at JJ Bean- a coffee chain in Vancouver that I really like, being that they sell good coffee, and being that many cute girls work there.

Ah yes. I can see it now. I'll have to go down to the thirft store and artsify my closet soon. Not to mention my life.

5) March is definately the most stressful month of the school year, in terms of assignments. Expect many a sad story this month.

Oh, speaking of that, I wrote three long poems about life in my alone time this break (go figure). Here is one of them:

We found our way into the afternoon,
Or we stumbled, short of grace,
Short of any words to say.
We fill awkward silence with new folk music,
And discuss old books, long trade rides to Salem and
Portland Oregon.
Someone told me that is where coffee calls home.
I’m sure of that.
I’ve always thought coffee was home in commercial drive,
Or else home is wherever we hold hands.

Theres something to be said for community,
Tall stools and light-brown house cappuccinos-
In other places they always look better than they taste,
But not at JJ Bean.
I have yet to find a better coffee than that rainy night we shared
Dark roast in small quaint mugs, white contrasting the Kenyan blend,
With nuances of grapefruit
And quiet spring mornings.

...Sometimes we say words for the sake of saying them,
because they feel good to say, instead of keeping them to ourselves
and living out our days with worry.
Or we leave our questions in small comment boxes
For someone else to pick up and carry
For a little while.

~

In any case. I think we should hang out, who ever is reading this. If we are ever within the same 60 mile radius of each other give me a shout.

I like this plan. Later.

weighed down, full of something

It occured to me, between procrasting my paper and a lonely friday morning, that I have not posted music in the last week or so.

So... enough said.



Have a good one.

ten pages left

Precursor: I am listening to "Justice" right now.

Spring Break: Chapter one.

On Friday some friends and I drove into Vancouver to see Xavier Rudd. After the consumption of some very overpriced sketchy burgers we walked a block away from where we parked to the Queen Elizabeth theatre.
The concert opened with a guitarist with a jamaican/australian accent, who sang songs about nature. Kelsey, Greg and I exchanged bad jokes to each other while sitting on a balcony waiting for Xavier to kick it.

The show itself was amazing, save for a rather drab audience sitting in the balcony with us, compiled mostly of chachy guys who brought their girlfriends for the sole purpose of sitting around complaining about the people who were dancing.

I was thoroughly impressed by the many drums, native sounds, diggeree doos (which is spelled wrong) and overall excitement. At one point 60 or so kids rushed the stage, and were pushed off by the large security force, all two of them, which was fun enough in itself to watch.

(pause briefly to acknowlede my very annoying self-reflective dry writing style... noted).

(note, also, that I have had too much coffee and am, thus, running out of creative energy to finish this embarassingly boring entry which, like those stories actors tell in bad DVD commentaries, only I will find interesting).

Yesterday Brad and I drove into Seattle to see Lifehouse- a band which I have been listening to since high school. After realizing the venue was nowhere near Pike Place, and realizing we had 5 hours to waste, we shared a pint at a brewery across the street from Safeco Field. Then it was off to the show.

The opending act was HoneyHoney, a band with a guitarist that looks exactly like Andrew Stock and a singer that looks sort of like Kendra Wilson.

The next act was this guy named Matt Nathanson, an artist who had a big head (literally) and really dry humor.

And then Lifehouse. I think the two best moments of the evening were the first ten seconds of their set- watching Jason wander out of a purple-lit cloud of smoke up to the mic (beautiful) and watching Bryce rock the lead vocals of "Bridges".

I was definately close enough to see the hair on Bryce's face. Except he was pretty clean shaven that day so there was no real hair. Even so, If he did have facial hair I would have been close enough to see it.

As well, I loved getting to sing every word in "Am I ever going to find out", secretly wishing I could stand on stage and sing the backing vocals.
It is a very different experience getting to see a band you have studied for years but have never actually met. Standing on stage it felt Like Jason, Sean, and Bryce were close friends I had known for years, and I kept waiting for one of them to wave at me, and say "Hey, Adam. Glad you came".

Yes. That is creepy. Even so.

Speaking of me being a weirdo, before the show started I struck up a conversation with Michelle Ben about the Backstreet Boys. I told her how I had to go to 5 different record stores trying to find their first CD when it first came out, and how I tried to buy tickets to one of their shows but it sold out in 30 seconds (I don't think that would happen anymore).

All in all, a very good time.

Today I woke up about ten, wrote some notes for a paper I am trying to write this week, talked to Reide Norman for a bit, and then did not feel like writing anymore...

Which sucks, because I have to give a youth talk tommorow about food.
So, that is how I managed to see two concerts in four days. Now I am broke.

Alas.

I probably have something important to do right now. I have to figure out what. See you later.

- Adam

sunrise, sunrise

It has been a long (long) week. It has also been the first week of spring.

Today was our last day of classes before "reading week", so I'm wrapping up the week with many a social gathering. Some friends and I put on a photography night last night, with amazing spice teas and paintings. Tonight I'm co-hosting a concert for a friend.

For Spring Break (aka, reading week)... I don't know. I can try to have a ten pager done, as well getting a lot of reading done, but those things are always in the air, never fully planned or followed through as originally planned.

This week, to explain the many details, I have;

1) Held someone close
2) Painted
3) Read poems under a tree that me and some friends named "Desmond".
4) Felt angry and frustrated at myself.
5) not done homework.
6) Smoked a clove cigar
7) Listened to Norah Jones surrounded by friends and the smell of coffee
8) Printed beautiful photographs, taken by friends. Wished I could show you.
9) Listened to "My Morning Jacket" in the morning.
10) Laughed

So... Its been a lot of friends. Which is always good.

I owe you some pictures, or perhaps some more good music. My computer is still broken, as are all of my lent goals for this year. It is a great sense of defeat as well as a longing for forgiveness and redemption.

Funny how that works.

- Adam

PS- I'm seeing Lifehouse and Xavier Rudd this week. Woot.

the climbing way

Ok friends, I realize the irony of posting a Raine Maida video on a post devoted to Matt Good... but even so.

I picked up Raine Maida's solo album today, while on mini-road trip to put up posters for the Brad Steeves concert, and pick up the new City and Colour album.
It was an eventful half hour, or so (Brad's show is Feb 21st, 7pm, at CBC. If you live anywhere remotely close to Abbotsford, which more than half of you who read this don't, check this one out).

In other news, I am now broke, and hungry. On the positive side, my experience with fasting has made me less randomly hungry, I have new music (that did not cost and arm and a face, like most Christian albums) and I have pounds of coffee to keep me not-hungry in my bouts of not eating.

Speaking of that, to remove this conversation from my attempts at self-humour, I have been thinking a lot about this organization called Rice Raiser, a group that provides ways for families to eat, at ridiculously affordable prices.

For example, in Sierra Leone, $20.00 provides lunches and snacks for 3 students for one year. In Bangledesh, $1 buys vegetable seeds for 7 families.

So... I'm not really broke, or hungry, by any means in the grand scheme of things. I know music is very much a influential and important part of my life. and food is neccesary for survival.

Now, to what degree can I build a life that offers the greatest amount of sharing, generosity, that builds towards this idea of "enough" that Shane Claiborne talks about, with my love for music and the need for people to eat?

Hmm. So, that is the question I have to leave myself, for now.

Lets talk more about this... over tea. I have had too much coffee today.

Later.

the colder side of land and sea

Josiah Leming, One last song
The ship was sinking; we were drinking, singing one last song,
Casting our gold into the ocean.
You grabbed a bucket, started screaming, "Come on, come on",
Trying to slow the downward motion.
Back in the kingdom, we were kings and queens and Oh, so strong
That God himself could not contain us.
We never thought we'd be the shorter half of sword and gun.
Now god himself could never save us.

Waves of silver, waves of gold
Are coming now to take me,
To separate my body from my soul
And Jesus leaves or takes me.
Hopes of heaven, fears of hell
Tell me, what's the chance I'll make it.
All my other plans have failed,
And all this time I've faked it.

We started sinking, drinking water from the open sea
Losing our bodies to the ocean.
You grabbed my hand and started screaming, "rescue me"
Together fight the downward motion.
Back in the kingdom we were kings and queens and Oh, so strong
That god himself just had to show us.
We never thought we'd see the colder side of land and sea
But he's the only one who knows us.

blue sky, white snow

So, I've been thinking a lot lately. Surprisingly.

My computer has been broken for about a week now. Because of this, I have a lot less dead time- time usually reserved for hours on facebook, and downloading films/music.

Now my time has been filled with reading, of all things, and putting together insights.

One thing I thought about today: In Rock Faith and Pop Culture we talked about rebellion. I started to think, but did not share with the class, this idea that a lot of the artists I listen to rebel in ways that allow growth and maturity.

One of the ways "rebellion" was described today was "unconventional creativity" - moving away from cliche music making, to exploring new ways of doing music.

I started listening to Matt Good's new album, "Hospital Music", recently- and album Good wrote after an overdose, and a week in a hospital. In interviews Good talks about being diagnosed with Bi-Polar. All of this produces a raw, uncomfortable, honesty in Hospital Music.

I think this form of rebellion has a lot to do with musical integrity. If you really want to make money as an artist, sell hundreds of CDs, you aren't supposed to write songs about your personal state. Culture itself tells us that being too personal is weird, that deep pain is something to be worked out in private.

Our culture, I am discovering, is less about personal, sincere, honesty and more about being generalized, an average person... being a statistic instead of a person. Rebellion is, I believe, about making music that seeks to questions one's personal state and heart, rather than partake in a consumer-culture saying "this is how you are supposed to write, and live".

In this case Good rebels by writing deeply personal work, rather than write about a car he just bought, a bitter feeling towards an ex, or a late-night in a club. As Sia, another artist I'm listening to, explains, "Some people have real problems".

Thanks for reading. Let's talk.

- Adam

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.