on rock and the fine art of listening.

Currently, I am in the process of taking pictures of all the funny stuff around my office, and all the artsy stuff around my house that is hard to realize apart from feeling artistically inspired to notice (whew. trying saying that five times fast). I will finally update my photojournal this week, I promise.

I'm also in the process of disliking myself because I spend too much money. I do so because a lot of my life depends on being artistically inspired, and this involves the purchasing of spectacular films and music- such as Darjeeling Limited, Xavier Rudd's White Moth album, and Waking Ned Devine, none of which I could find on sale yesterday.

In reality, all I bought this weekend was a fantastic book called "Jamie at Home". Its a book about a chef who grows food in his backyard and cooks a lot, with a lot of beautiful photography and artwork. Buying this was not a poor choice, necessarily.

To make a long story short, I am not being honest with myself. I feel bad about money because I do not keep myself organized. That is the truth.

In other news, I really like the new Sarah Mclachlan record, but I am too cheap to actually pick it up. The initial concensus regarding the new Death Cab for Cutie album, that my friends and I share, is that it kind of sucks. But I think it is one of those albums you dislike for a long time, then all of a sudden love like crazy- like every album that Wilco and the Arcade Fire have put out. "Narrow Stairs" reminds of of Death Cab's older stuff- more rocky, less overtly artsy... i could be wrong. Please argue with me.

I am still a huge fan of Xavier Rudd, although I can't find his stuff anywhere. And I am loving everything by The Album Leaf right now, but the same problem presents itself. alas.

In other other news, the new Coldplay comes out next month. Really excited to hear this one, I won't lie. Violet Hill, I think, is one of their best songs to date... or to listen to on a date. But I have no idea what that is like.

Case in point: I still have yet to hold hands with a girl, since publishing this entry. Alas alas. One of these days.

I have a lot of music to catch up on. Later.

this office life

I have been listening to a lot of The Album Leaf in the past couple days- hence the previous video I posted. A couple mornings ago I found my roommate's copy of "in a safe place" and listened to it about 4 times over during the course of the day. I am down.

Last night after work I sat at home, on my deck, trying to put together some poems. But I forgot all the lines I was making up in my head on the drive home, which I thought was lame as life.

Then a friend of mine gave me a chocolate cake for my birthday, which is sitting on my friend Brad's desk here in our small church office, next to our mandatory pot of french-press coffee and bowls of "fruit loops" (Being a youth worker has it's benefits). So I wrote what I could, whatever random lines I could come up with, before my friends and I watched Hotel Rwanda.

I was hoping to watch something really arsty, like Persepolis, Once, I'm Not There, or The Savages... maybe next Thursday (Thursday nights, for the record, are 1 dollar movie rental nights at a video place a block away from where I live. Ideal since being arsty goes hand in hand with being cheap). I am at least 5 or 6 movies behind at the moment.

I have nothing at all planned this weekend, besides hanging out with a certain someone on Sunday, so I might try and do some actual good writing again. We'll see. My computer will not leave this office, as I have been on it all week and there is always the need for moderation of time. So it will be good.

For now, here is a list of essential items for a Youth worker's office, that I have discovered (look forward to pictures);

1) A big funny hat
2) Candy
3) Weird thrift store treasures (like our earthenware juice container, and fake yellow flowers
4) Bags of chips
5) Coffee. Hot Chocolate. Hot Apple Cider.
6) Guitars
7) Letters to read, for those few times of being over-computerized
8) Really cool looking t-shirts
9) Freezies
10) Books. The good ones. Currently, The End of Religion, ,The Wounded Healer Contemplative Youth Ministry, and Stumbling Toward Faith.

11) The occasional student.

The journey continues.

another day

It was another long day today. And it's starting to feel like yesterday was weeks ago. Thus my current act of posting two days in a row.

I'm feeling really sick today, mainly because I haven't slept well in a week and because I have been thinking non-stop about everything since I started here. Working here feels like a major adjustment, from hard construction work to administrative work. The big question I'm asking myself, well one of them, is "where does youth ministry start"?

I mean, where / when do I start being all the things I read about in youth ministry books? The man of character who disciples students?

I started reading a book today called "Contemplative Youth Ministry". In the first chapter the author says, "The real crisis those of us who seek to share faith with youth is this:

We don't know how to be with our kids.
We don't know how to be with ourselves.
We don't know how to be with God. "

Later on, describing what a contemplative approach is like, we writes, "The yearning to be fully awake and alive, the desire to be attentive to others, the longing to be receptive to God's call in every moment of our lives is the heart of the contemplative tradition." Later he talks about "unrehearsed moments when a deep sense of gratitude falls upon us and we find ourselves without need or want, satisfied and reverent at the mystery of life. "

So, the more I read this the more I feel the need to be alive. I'll be honest, feeling dry and burdened is something I feel most of the time. Sometimes I get so busy, like in the last two days, that I forget to just "be"- to take a second to just be who I am, and to sit with a student and allow them to do the same.

Or, in plain terms, I don't allow myself to stop and be loved. My place in working here is not supposed to be this rush. I am supposed to be taking rest. I am really meant to, as the author describes "take a long loving look at the real... a look, long and lovingly, at what is".

Really, in all the rush I don't know how to just enjoy these moments, to enjoy the comfort of contemplating, about where I stand and where I am going, before getting buried by the rush of life.

I'm still trying to figure this out. I think, it could be as easy as taking care of some unpaid bills and then taking a deep breathe or two. But I think the real challenge is being able to apply any of this to life. To allow myself the time to realize I am loved enough where I am right now. And it definitely is a challenge.

The other question I was asking myself, for the record, was "what is it like to really be humble". I'll have to save that for another day.

More to come.

pizza and better office space

It's been a really long weekend, friends. But it was good.

I spent most of my weekend on a guy's retreat, with some boys from my youth group. We spent 3 days on a small lake near long stretches of ranch land and rolling hills. Driving there it felt like the movie "Open Range".

At night the moon mirrored on the lake perfectly, setting up an atmosphere of loons and frogs, the sound carrying across the surface of the lake. It was really more beautiful than I can describe with prose right now.

Then yesterday I spent the day at a silent retreat place called "The Mark Centre". Me and some young adults read books, talked about life, ate food together, and enjoyed a day of quiet, which is a nice thing to have every so often in the chaos of life.

I had a lot of conversations this week, mostly about the love of God. From what I have read, and heard from a lot of interviews on "The Hour", a lot of people don't like God. Sometimes it feels like the God they are talking about hates them, or else could care less about what they do. The God they talk about, in fact, seems to do more harm than good via the people who call him friend.

I have a problem with this, because I have this image of God as a lot more loving than that... a lot more gracious than all the rules and legalisms that Christians tie to God.

So here is what I came up with in my reflections. There are two basic, essential, truths I have of God. The first is that God likes me, likes me, and nothing I can do will change that. The second is that I am trying. I'm trying to be a good person and figure out life, and that, I think, is all God expects of me.

And this kind of love is really hard for me to accept, because I grew up feeling worthless a lot of the time. In the working world our worth is defined by what we can do. The people with the highest skills get money, success, and value. But a lot people with low social skills- the mentally handicapped, the abused- are deemed worthless.

In light of this, the love God is supposed to have for us is opposite. Essentially, I don't have to do anything to deserve love, and I don't have to carry all the guilt or shame from mistakes I made in the past.

Really, this should free me, us, up to enjoy life. Even if I am feeling broken most days, I want to know that I have love to look forward to everyday. The question "am I loved" should not even come into my mind, as much as the question of "what can I figure out today" should.

One thing I have said in conversation before is that "If life feels easy for me, I'm probably not being honest with myself". To be honest is to know I have a lot of hurt to carry, and having the humbleness to give that up. In the end, I think it is more humble for me to accept that I am loved and cared for, rather than always thinking God's love is only given to those people who are good enough.

I am good enough. Right now. And that is what makes the difference.

In case you are wondering what my "today" is like, today is my first day working in the office, at my first Youth Ministry job ever. The beauty of working here is that things like solitude, praying, reading and meeting with friends is part of my job. So far, I am loving it.

More to come.

PS- please ask me any questions if anything I just said sounds confusing. It's really tough trying to transfer really good conversations into semi- good journal entries sometimes.

Later.

making my way up the west coast

some scattered thoughts, before more traveling

(I really hope this is my last weekend away for the next long while).

creativity scares the hell out of me,
on days like this, the really nice ones,
inside without words
or consequence.

tough love never asked me any questions,
a lot of tough, not a lot of love.
tough love hurt more than anything,
given the days I could take it seriously.

originality doesen't like my living room,
staring blankly from the walls like christmas lights,
taken down nonchalantly,
like christmas itself.
I never like to grow tired of things I love.

I've made more excuses than mistakes,
because forgiveness doesn't come without conditions.
I'm wasting today to
like myself enough.

~

I'm not what I say I am most days,
i could never give myself enough credit.
Grace is that love we never asked for:

I never asked for love because I didn't think I deserved it,
and I'd just as well learn to live alone.
But who I am to ask for anything less
than belonging to something. to someone.

no expression

A lot has happened since last time. Evidently.

Last Wednesday a friend and I went to my favorite resteraunt in Nanaimo - a romantic Mediterranean place built in a house downtown- only to find out it was closed down!!! Which was tough, being that it is the second of my two favorite resteraunts in Nanaimo shut down.

My first was an Italian place called "Milanos" that my mom used to cook for, which is now turned into a British style place. My friend and I were making fun of each other because I'm somewhat Italian and she is somewhat British.

At the Sheree Plett show there was about 4 people that showed up, which actually made the show really good. Halfway through her set I got to do a couple of my poems, like this one, and I was horribly awkward as usual. During the show my friend and I were drawing pictures of trees on a table.

Then, after 4 more days of waiting to see if I had a job, and wandering the streets of Nanaimo and Vancouver, I came home and found out that I have a job! I'm going to be a youth ministry intern from the next 13 weeks, starting Thursday. Thus beginning a new journal experience.

So far the extent of my preparation for this summer has been me buying Larvae snacks - wormy things that you can eat!!! I am a youth worker, after all.

Last night I made a feast, of sorts, in the tradition of "Babette's Feast" and "Big Night". It reminded me a lot of the weddings my Mom and I used to cater, making really good food for young brides and uptight bridesmaids (a stretch for most caterers I have seen).

It is always good trying to get a lot of friends together for a dinner, because it gives me that 2 or 3 hours to just be in the kitchen and cook. It is my way of making up for the fact that I cannot play guitar at all, and the fact that I take myself too seriously sometimes. Especially after traveling alone too much.

So that is where I am. I'm trying to sit down and write something concrete today, and not sit around the house. Though, that is starting to become a paradox, and a contradiction in my life, in many ways. A house is supposed to be a place of safety, of comfort and belonging. Though in western cultures "staying inside the house" has become tied to laziness, arrogance, and a lot of other things that really don't do anyone any good.

I don't understand this. I just know that I need my house to be a place of belonging, because I don't have much else in my life that exists for that sole purpose. And why does a house even exist if not to be a place where we can belong?

So thats my thought of the day. So far, I have nothing to do today, or tomorrow. We'll see.



(I stole this video from Amy, for the record).

grace eventually

I spent some time in chapters today, trying to find copies of The Ordering of the Heart by Madeleine L'Engle, The complete short stories of Flannery O'Conner, and Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard.

But, alas, I couldn't find copies of any of those books. So instead I picked up "Grace Eventually" and "Ella Enchanted" (hey, stop laughing. that just happens to be a really nice book). I am addicted to books. I won't lie.

Then I walked over to The Buzz, and wrote this. Take care.

let go.

I sit quiet as in a calm blue pool,
like waves of jazz
from miles davis.

I let go as a kite in wind,
over the water
from the pacific ocean.

I quiet myself as if in a coffeehouse,
like a mug warming slowly
from earl gray tea.

I hold on to God as if alone,
like a newlywed
from a long separation.

or else, God holds on to me.
and this is all I can do to
keep myself from running away.

everyone around here

A long overdue entry or a long way gone.

I came into Nanaimo today, worn out and weathered from a weeks worth of walking. Just off the ferry- one of the new ones they just built- I kept walking and crashed in a park in downtown nanaimo, under the shade of a tree on a hill near a small beach.

In any case, I am skipping many many details here. So I will try, as caffeinated and awkward and obnoxious as I am right now, to write this story as interesting as possible.

This weekend I went to a "full gospel business men's" retreat in Kelowna,- which is not at all and never will be my style. I was there helping a friend set up worship services. It was actually quite enjoyable. All the men there talked about "the spirit" a lot, and spoke in tongues. I myself just walking around the lake, and talked a lot about being way too human.

I'm not going to find out whether or not I have a job until friday, So I jumped a bus to Kitsalano the next day to visit my friend and, essentially, run away from the constant sense of dread that comes with waiting.

A good 30 percent of my life, I have concluded, is spent waiting for something to happen.

At my friends house in Kits I tried to walk to the beach but I got lost, and walking an hour in the wrong direction. Eventually I found Kits beach, had two slices of pizza, wrote poems at a coffee house called "bean around the world" and watched the sun set into a wave of clouds and mountains, in several colors across a clear sky. Epic.

The next day... well, today, I took off from my friends house to Granville to find a bus to the ferries, and got lost again... then walked a half hour in the wrong direction, again, and missed my ferry.

Eventually, I came into Nanaimo, and therein my story comes full circle. In Nanaimo I tried to find some pizza downtown, to no avail. So I found a small bakery and ate three croissants. Then I visited a coffee place that sells "salt spring island" coffee, and then met up with a friend of mine.

After said coffee we drove to another coffeehouse I like called the buzz, and I had some tea and talked way too much because I was way too wired and worn down from travel.

What I'm finding out, since coming home, is that things that are commonplace in Vancouver- such as cheap pizza, concerts, art, and coffeehouses- are awkward here, for the most part.

Thus, I am on another random awkward journey, trying to escape my problems, as is the reason that many of mankind's greatest journeys have been taken.

In any case... I need to stop talking. I am really getting sick of the sound of my own voice. The next entry will a lot more relaxed. I will have simpler, more concise, stories to tell.

The alternative to this long and annoying blog entry, if you have chosen to skim my work up until this point, is the following summary list of things I have done in the past 6 days:

1) Attended men's retreat, with a bunch of pentecostal men.
2) Got lost in Kistalano Beach
3) Had pizza and coffee overlooking the ocean
4) Got lost in Granville
5) Fell asleep under a tree listening to Kid A in Nanaimo
6) Had coffee in Downtown Nanaimo.
7) Had tea in the North end of Nanaimo
8) Disliked myself for running away from my problems, and writing this effing long journal.

9) watched Bridget Jones 2.
10) Took a deep breathe, and went to bed.

Notes to self: Drink juice instead of tea. Write shorter entries. Stop making excuses. Sleep for more than 3 hours. purchase a german beer.

More, or less, to come.

once again

I might be going home this weekend, after going on a man's retreat (which is completely outside of my character... an entire weekend without girls is too long!), one of the reasons being that Sheree Plett, an artist I like to support, is playing in Nanaimo on Wednesday.

In any case, this, like much of my life, is very up in the air. I really am starting to get tired of this "about to go traveling" feeling. bah.

Here is a video I found that I really like. See you later.

we carry too much

... and you'd carry that, all you deserve.
never entitled to arms or holding close.
growing up beautiful is more than it seemed.

I spent some time on one of British Columbia's gulf islands this past weekend, a place called "Pender Island" an hour or so ferry ride from Victoria and greater Vancouver.

I came home and someone told me that at a Starfield/ Shane & Shane/ Bethany Dillon concert, here in Abbotsford, a 25 by 25 foot section of flooring collapsed, and 80ish people fell 5 meters into the basement. 40 people were injured though only one person was seriously injured.

I was really shaken by this at first, being a youth worker. I was supposed to be at this concert, but instead I was traveling to a youth retreat. I know there is some profound thing I am supposed to capture in all of this, some connection to be made, but I'm struggling to make that connection.

The first image that came to mind when I heard about this was youth workers at the concert rushing to the scene of the collapse, offering help, coming together. The next image was youth workers calling each other the next day, seeing which kids were hurt. And this, I think, is the heart of youth ministry- caring. I started to feel a compulsion to make calls myself, to hear stories and to be involved.

Though, I took a step back. The last thing I want to be is a band-wagoner, jumping in on some pity party. I do want to offer my sincere concern, but I also don't want to press an issue to much. Thus is life.

So, I'm back to my awkward stage of waiting to see wether or not I have a job, again. Next weekend I'm going to another retreat in the interior of BC somewhere, I have no idea. I hope to get some woods time, away from commitments and youth work for a couple days. I still have a lot of hurt to get through from this past semester- the hard stuff we have to carry in the mess of being real, living intentionally, learning the odds and ends of self respect.

Am I just sounding crazy here? I watched the "Return of the King" on friday, and in the end of the film frodo (I really hope I don't sound like a nerd) talked about the hurt that he still had from carrying the ring, even after it was gone from his life.

I think living life itself can feel like that. Even after we have come through the hard times we still carry the weight of that experience, almost to remind ourselves to keep learning. just a thought. comment if you want to help me finish that thought. I would be grateful.

Anyway, I owe you some pictures. I'll have a couple posts on "Art is for Birds" up this next week, I promise.

Later.

~

And thus it was. A fourth age of middle-earth began. And the fellowship of the ring, though eternally bound by friendship and love, was ended. Thirteen months to the day since Gandalf sent us on our long journey we found ourselves looking upon a familiar sight. We were home. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back? There are somethings that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep that have taken hold. Bilbo once told me his part in this tale would end, that each of us must come and go in the telling. Bilbo's story was now over. There would be no more journeys for him, save one. My dear Sam. You cannot always be torn in two. You will have to be one and whole for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be and to do. Your part in the story will go on.

- frodo, return of the king.

sky blue sky

Odds, ends.

Its finally sunny again. Kind of. At least it was when I first woke up.

I have a new room, beside my old one, that allows me a noticiably larger amount of space and light. I set up m bed right beside a window, so when it gets warmer I can wake up to fresh air and birds.

This also gives me something to look at while I write, as my desk space is not limited to a dark corner, or placed in front of a wall. All in all, this is a decent set up.

A lot has changed since last year. Like roommates. I don't live with Jeff (ben stiller) anymore, and I have not had any good conversations about shalom in a long long time.

I now live with this guy;



Oh no, wait. I do not live with Jensen Ackles (Smallville anyone?) I live with this fellow:



Nothing says "fish for lunch" like two guys from Vancouver Island sharing a house.


In other news, I am feeling the impending doom of rejection, as I still haven't heard back about the youth work job I am supposed to be doing this year. Which sucks for several reasons:

1) I have nothing to do for the next month, except watch movies and loathe myself for my spending habits.
2) I am horribly broke because of tuition fees
3) This is the 4th summer in a row I have tried to get a youth work job.

Anyway, I have nothing to complain about. I think it is going to be a good summer. I will hopefully enjoy the following things often:
1) acoustic music
2) clear, warm morning air
3) the backdeck
4) Green tea
5) Fair Trade South American Coffee. mmm.

We'll see. More to come, friends, once life gets started again.

Later.

some home

on expectations and my failing approach to relationships.

keep me in good company.
I need somewhere to call home.

every line I write falls captive to the wind.

~

I can't remember what I had to say,
to get this off my shoulders,
to do better at self-confidence.
It seems the hurting are the most outspoken.

whatever hurting means.

maybe I was way too hard on myself,
maybe we all are, in many ways.
and I have fallen under my own judgement.
my heart is wrecked with the things I say.

~

keep me in good company,
I need somewhere to rest my weary heart,

I can't keep up
the unfolding act of keeping my composure.

I expect too much of mountain peaks,
of sunny days that were supposed to last longer.
and belonging that was supposed to come through
for days like this.

I was good for a second there,
I still long for more than just 3 good days a year.

~


I'm making this up as a go along.
being my own mentor and father figure.
If only self-confidence was somewhat easier to do alone.
and I go at it as bravely as I can.

when did this house get so sarcastic,
and when did I get so bad at being cautious?

~

I was good for a second there.
It seems I only scare away those I care for.
I should just pack it in and go back home.

I don't want to wait until life feels good enough again,
I can't live up to a word I say.


~

In any case, my life is in a bit of transition this week. My roommate is slowly making his way out, and a new one is making his way in. I'm trying to keep myself together in the mess of organizing a years worth of life.

My exams finished last week and so I spent some time reflecting on being a leader this last year (a painful, fulfilling, experience) and looking forward to being even more of a leader next year.

Spring is lazily making its way in this year, preceeded by snow and cold wind. My friend gave me a pipe last week, so I am smoking more than usual ("usual" being never, really).

In any case, this is how my journal is unfolding. I feel super vague, and I'm having a hard time. If you want to ask me about any of this you know where to find me / e-mail me.

sonic youth is terrible

Hm. My last entry kind of sucked, again. I am really not doing well at this whole "sounding interesting" lately. I will make it up to you.

It has been overcast as anything since Saturday. Though, I am done exams, and I now have time to read books I have been meaning to read... among them;

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz, Mordachi Richler
The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner
A Complicated Kindess, Miriam Toews

Alright. I have to write something good soon. It has been too long.

PS- If you haven't seen Juno yet, watch it over a cup of yorkshire harrogate tea. That and "Paris je' Taime".

See you.



PPS - I am wearing the most uncomfortable clothing known to man today, which does not fit. Clothing should not stretch. Meh.

blue like jazz

It was a pretty perfect couple of days on Friday and Saturday, I must say.

After a really difficult week my friend, Karina, and I went to see a Valley Festival Singers performance- which is a local choir group- with the theme of black spirituals. A couple of my friends were singing, and the Nelson Boschman Trio was playing, so all in all an amazing evening of song.

Afterwards we took a walk to a pizza place and shared a medium hawaiian overlooking the dim lights, and passing traffic, of South Fraser Way- a strip of Abbotsford where a mall, a Safeway, and numerous other stores and cafes call home.

It is not a spectacular place by any means, but these insignificant details of the town one calls home are always more beautiful when shared with a friend.

Saturday was as close to perfect as days can be... with the minor exception of an hour or so when I had a bit too much coffee and felt wired. I woke up at around 9 and a friend, Alex Friesen, called me, reminding me that Radiohead tickets were going on sale that morning at10!

Ah! So Alex, Greg, and I took a walk in the beautiful morning sunlight to the mall and waited around until 10. Then at 10:01 I picked up my horribly overpriced $77 ticket.

Thus, I now have ticket to see Radiohead in August. Ah Ha Ha!!! I am super excited for this one!

The day, then, consisted of me finishing novels, sitting under trees on campus, and sitting on my backdeck in the cool of night with a bottle of beer from holland. It does not get much better than this, friends.

Then Sunday was really overcast. And boring. And so is today. Thus proving the old cliche regarding British Columbia: If you don't like the weather just wait 5 minutes.

So now I am listening to In Rainbows for the second time this morning, about to have a gradually cooling mug of green tea, and about to finish papers that were due two weeks ago. Can't wait until summer starts up.

See you.

you must have fallen from the sky

I thought yesterday's post kind of sucked, so here is a better one.



I have a hard time trying to be concise when I am a) drinking coffee and b) am wrestling with my perceptions of love as opposed to the actual reality of love (I watched "Paris je'taime" last night and the many perspectives of love are battling it out in my head. bah).

Such a thought is, arguably, not something that needs to be wrestled with necessarily. Rather, this might be one of those questions that works itself over time and experience (and with wisdom to accompany said experience).

At least this is what I wish for myself. I wish for love to be a process with, eventually, grows me and stretches me. I like to think that God has the universe more intricately composed than I could ever comprehend. And if the universe is that intricately placed, then how much more is the relational aspect of my life taken care of?

Love is something I don't want to worry about constantly, sometimes.

Just a thought. I feel like a mess today.

you saw all my pieces broken

Last summer I listened to a lot of this guy (cary brothers). This summer I hope to listen to nothing but Sigur Ros, David Bazan, and Sufjan Stevens. And maybe Death Cab, if their new CD turns out to not be a horrible dissapointment (which seems to be the fate of a lot of great indie artists, upon reaching that "3rd major album" stage in life).

If you have any artists I need to be listening to, let me know. I like this plan.

more than alive

Today is a pretty slow day. It was raining this morning so I stayed in and watched "Chocolat". I have a bit of a craving for Bridget Jones. The movie, not Bridget herself... although.

School is almost done, in 2 weeks or so. I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends before summer - i.e. who I like, what bills I need to pay, what music I need to listen to.

I find it is really hard to keep things organized in a set plan. Sometimes the details of life get mixed together, so all I have left is a big mess of priorities, all of which I have to unpack and decide which are the more important to keep (and which are disposable). The to do list gets too complicated to follow through with, leaving me in an overwhelmed state.

Am I just sounding crazy here? To me this is what being a 23 year old / a college student feels like. It is the daily mess of making mistakes and learning from those mistakes, as opposed to having everything neatly laid out for me. The basic thought is that no-one taught me much about adult life- finances, time management, taxes. I'm making this up as I go along.

Maybe it is just as well. I think there are things in this life that have to be experienced in order to be learned, things you won't understand until you yourself have felt them - pain, love, rain, quiet nights under stars. It's basically like something out of a calming movie, or a book of reflective prose.

Though that is not to say I'm fine learning this alone. I do still feel the dire need for a mentor in my life to help me answer those questions, deal with the shit, that I am hard pressed to answer.

yeeeah. so thats that. deep breath. I need to avoid having so much tea. it gets me thinking too much.

later.

- Adam

currently listening to: Hayden (link conveniently located to your right).

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.