16 more days to Christmas Vacation

I know, teachers aren't supposed to think like that. If you think that's bad, you should hear the thoughts in my head when one of my students told me I need to dye my hair today; this color doesn't work for me. Homonal little angel.

You know what, though. I haven't quit. I'm miserable
in a lot of ways, and this is stressing me to the max,
but I'm sticking with it even when it's far from
perfect.

when ure hero falls

Posted in dedication to two boys who I teach (middle school English/Reading). Names changed & details altered...you know, just in case.

Juan has a sibling who was shot and killed several years ago in a gang related incident. He works a night job to help his mother with the bills. Half-awake, he sits in my class scribbling precocious lines of poetry onto my assignments (which he sometimes finishes). Clearly an old soul, murky from the hazy confusion of adolesence along with the oppression of poverty and it's angry mirror of violence. He wants nothing to do with gangs or violence, he tells me on one of the mornings that he has wondered into my classroom before school. It has hurt his family enough. He just got off of work. He says he's tired, he will try to pay attention.

The other boy, Miguel (a gang member; a kid who has been in a lot of trouble), tells me with heavy eyes that his father has begun drinking again after two years of sobriety. It is my planning period. I don't know where he is supposed to be, but he is not there. His mind is at home anyways. His eye is on the bottle that has stolen his dad away. His body is in my classroom, looking for an answer that I've been looking for for years. I share an anecdote about my own trip down this road, and I think back to my grade school counselor, Mrs. Johnson. When I was young, she shared with me a version a piece of her life story that was similar to mine; in a breath she handed to me my discarded, crumpled potential -wrapped carefully in a tiny box, tied with strings of hope. She was my proof that it was possible to make it through something through which I didn't feel I had the strength to withstand. By virtue of existence, she was the hope that remained in my Pandora's box. "God must be preparing you to help another child through this," she said.

I grasped the box of my fragile potential with knuckles whiter than winter; I tucked it deep in my soul. Sometimes I forgot it was there. And, sometimes I forget it is there. And sometimes it sings the songs it knew all along. The songs that all of our souls have always known. I believe life is about clearing a way to our souls, which have always known "the answers"...Clearing the distractions of life...the crippling oppression of poverty, the paralyzing oppression of wealth.

I do not know if I will make a difference as a teacher, but I know that the difference is already in me. At times, I am blinded by the endless distraction of beauracracy and expectations I do not know how to meet. Overall, it gives me clarity...Not clarity in my own life, but a clearer picture of the world as it really is. At night, I drive home to my comfortable, if not fancy neighborhood where most people pretend that poverty does not exist. It would be comforting to believe that, but in the morning I go back to the school that is 95% poor and minority, tucked away between used car lots and gang signs painted on overpasses. This is reality.

As for middle school...I never thought I would teach middle school; it was the worst time of my life. Adolesence in itself is pandora's box. By definition, it is a time of trauma. Add poverty. Add violence. May my kids recognize the elusive hope that hides in the corner; some never find it. Pandora found it. Mrs. Johnson found it, and she showed it to me.

I believe that Tupac found it, be it with slippery fingers. He wrote about it time and again.

Tupac wrote this poem after his seemingly untouchable mother became addicted to cocaine. She was/is an activist for social justice, a vigilante. A liver of life who gave up on living for a while.

When Ure Hero Falls
4 My Hero (My Mother)
by Tupac Shakur

When your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales R uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but I'm confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure Hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my Hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow.
your Heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what R u expected 2 do
when ure only Hero falls

other places.

My mind is other places, but I wanted to say a hello. A quote...



The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.

Carl Jung (1875 - 1961)

i can't live if living is without you

I've been sort of blue lately. Or, bored. Bored. Blue. I don't know. I've finished the Teach For America-ish certification program that was keeping me ever so busy, and now I'm just looking, looking, looking for that elusive pay check. I went into teaching for all of the mushy reasons, but right now, I'm all about the paper. I'm also all about a reason to get up in the morning!

I'm one of those people who is pretty motivated and healthy when I stay busy...I totally thrive there. During the majority of the summer, I was super busy-- a little too busy, honestly, but I do so much better in life when my plate is full. Now that I don't have anything on my plate, really, I'm honestly pushing miserable a little bit. It's summer! I love summer. I'm one of those annoying people who doesn't even mind the heat. I'm not getting out there and doing the things that I love, though. I love reading in coffee houses, yoga, walking my dog, going on long bike rides-- I don't do any of that-- There is a "hot" yoga studio a block from me offering unlimited yoga for $10 for 10 days, and I kept saying, "tomorrow, I'll go." Did I? Nope. You'd think that with all this time on my hands, I would have a pristine apartment and would be exercising daily. Nope, nope. Catching up on my correspondence? Nope. Re-watching "You've Got Mail," b/c I'm too lazy to even change the DVD? Uh, maybe.

I keep saying to myself that I am SO excited that once I get a job, school will start soon...b/c I know that this apathy will take care of itself once I'm busy again. The fact is, though, I can't depend on external factors to maintain my quality of life. I really need to get out there and live my life. I always go on and on and on about living life to the fullest, and I've yet to find the most full version of my life on my futon.

Unfortunately, this is all I have right now...b/c not a lot has been going on! I spent time with friends yesterday...drank red wine and even wore a little of it. Overall, I'm doing great, really--- I just need to push through this next week or so of not a lot to do.

nine one one.

Have you watched this? Interesting perspective on 9/11. I've heard that this will be released in theaters as well, but the video is free to watch here, and it's streaming, so you don't have to wait for it to download.

my humps.

my humps. my humps, my humps, my humps. my lovely lady lumps. in the back and in the front. my humps.





Friday night, I was having a drink at a bar with my friend Elizabeth and my husband, Bruce. We were listening to a karaoke version of "my humps," and we were probably the most sober people within at least a few yards. Above the bar was a television showing videos of Israel's attack on the Beirut International Airport. We all acknowledged the dichotomy of the situation, and had a short discussion on some of life's more political questions. Some of these questions, I have grappled with for years. I can remember being a child and learning about the Holocaust; I remember casting judgement upon every human living at the time, who chose to do nothing...who did not research their intuitions, their fears...who were disconnected as families and individuals were exploited for labor and slowly murdered...How could it happen???

Later, I began reading Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor who is famous for many things, including his words on indifference.

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.

so, I ask myself...
What are the responsibilities of a citizen (of a state/nation/world)?
Where is the line between indifference and a clean conscience?
In other words, am I doing enough?
Is it enough to simply vote your conscience...
or should we be doing more?
Is it enough to show up at a protest,
or should we be doing more?
I think of all of the terrible things...
Darfur...human exploitation...Iraq...economic exploitation
I know that if these situations were right in front of me,
I would feel so differently. If someone were dying in front of
us, wouldn't we do all that we could to save them?
When can we say we have done enough?
I tend to think that most answers to these questions are rationalizations, and that the true answers were held by people like:
Jesus,
Mother Theresa,
Gandhi,
and Dorothy Day...
Are conviction and conscience relative? Was Mother Theresa's calling hers alone...or one that most of us simply ignore?


...I know one thing: Dissent is the highest form of patriotism. Being "non-political" may be a comforting thought; however it is my belief that citizenship should be taken seriously...not doing so gives up your power, which can (and has!) been used to exploit, to steal, to kill. The concepts behind America are pretty fantastic--I've included an excerpt from the Declaration of Independence here:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

What Would Martin Luther King Do?

On April 4, 1967, in the midst of the Vietnam War, Martin Luther King spoke at Riverside Church in New York City on the subject "Beyond Vietnam—A Time to Break Silence." Note the similarities between Iraq and Vietnam. A question I'm asking myself is, "are we doing enough?" It seems that people generally agree that the dissent involved in this unjust war is not as powerful as the dissent found in Vietnam. I wonder, what is the difference? Are we more disconnected? More busy? Are we afraid to think about it? Is it just too hard? This is only an excerpt of his speech; if you want the full text and cannot find it online, email me and I'll pass it along. :)

In 1957 when a group of us formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, we chose as our motto: "To save the soul of America." We were convinced that we could not limit our vision to certain rights for black people, but instead affirmed the conviction that America would never be free or saved from itself until the descendants of its slaves were loosed completely from the shackles they still wear. In a way we were agreeing with Langston Hughes, that black bard of Harlem, who had written earlier:

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath —
America will be!

Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read: Vietnam Iraq. It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over. So it is that those of us who are yet determined that America will be are led down the path of protest and dissent, working for the health of our land.…

What must they be thinking when they know that we are aware of their control of major sections of Vietnam Iraq, and yet we appear ready to allow national elections in which this highly organized political parallel government many Iraqis, including the entire Sunni population, will not have a part?… Is our nation planning to build on political myth again, and then shore it up upon the power of new violence?

Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy's point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.…

At this point I should make it clear that while I have tried in these last few minutes to give a voice to the voiceless in Vietnam Iraq and to understand the arguments of those who are called "enemy," I am as deeply concerned about our own troops there as anything else. For it occurs to me that what we are submitting them to in Vietnam Iraq is not simply the brutalizing process that goes on in any war where armies face each other and seek to destroy. We are adding cynicism to the process of death, for they must know after a short period there that none of the things we claim to be fighting for are really involved. Before long they must know that their government has sent them into a struggle among Vietnamese Iraqis, and the more sophisticated surely realize that we are on the side of the wealthy, and the secure, while we create a hell for the poor.

Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam Iraq. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted. I speak for the poor of America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home, and death and corruption in Vietnam Iraq. I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. I speak as one who loves America, to the leaders of our own nation: The great initiative in this war is ours; the initiative to stop it must be ours.…

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.

A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa, and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say, "This is not just." It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of South America and say, "This is not just." The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just.

A true revolution of values will lay hand on the world order and say of war, "This way of settling differences is not just." This business of burning torturing human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into the veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice, and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing except a tragic death wish to prevent us from reordering our priorities so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

jesus is just all right with me...really!

It may sound a little cliche, but the book "Tuesdays With Morrie" really did change my life. (If it weren't for "Night," by Elie Wiesel, I might have to call it my favorite book of all...but nothing touches "Night." )

What I learned from Morrie is that there is value to be found in setting my goals/plans aside so that I notice the unplanned in life...In our culture, we are not expected to question the value of being uber-goal-oriented. We move so quickly. We are drinking our meals now. Is it true that pb&j's now come FROZEN with the crust already removed?! The heck? What have we gained? What are we running toward? I have heard it said that our culture is moving toward a collective clinical insanity. We're running so hard, and burning bridges along the way...with eachother, our spirits, the earth...I know, I sound like a greeting card, but really!

Believe it or not, I was a very, very deeply religious child and young teenager. My grandma took me to church every Sunday. At first, I loved the wintergreen gum and droping a quarter in the collection plate. Later, I got pretty into it. Have you seen "Jesus Camp?" I'm talking a super fundy, here. I think I got "saved" at the alter at least three times, and once it was at an event where there were actually fireworks! Woo Hoo! I remember pastors asking people to keep their hands raised if they were saved, and then we would go talk about our numbers much like the stock-market. "Oh my heavans, the Assembly of God church on 4th Street had 45 saved this week! We only had 15!" I began to wonder about this whole thing.

There I was in spirtual, er, crisis.

So, I asked my Dr. for some Zoloft to help me deal with my spiritual crisis. I was 17 at the time. He said to me,
"Now... what?"

"I'm depressed b/c I don't think I believe in Christianity, and that's my whole life."

"Do you believe in anything?"

"Er, I don't know."

"Do you think that God made nature?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, why don't you try praying to that God, then. You're 17, and your medical card will run out soon."

"Oh, okay."


and so it began...it really was a fun road, without all those rules....

Inspite of my pursuit to wash the bad taste that that particular flavor of religion has left in my mouth, I'm finding myself looking into the words of Jesus, whose words I've come to believe are the most misunderstood words ever spoken. I don't usually identify with most Christians; however, I'm reading a book, "The Complete Jesus," which is a compilation of Jesus' words from a variety of sources. The true, non jacked-with and manipulated teachings of Jesus are absolutely beautiful...Mahatma Ghandi said, "I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ." Dang, that Ghandi was smart. Right-o Ghandi. Right-o Dooby Brothers. Apparently, Jesus is just all-right with me too.

you're the meaning in my life. you're the inspiration.

Want to be inspired? Go meet my friend, Miss Melanoma.

Seriously, go.


Now.

toxic air, republicans, happy hour, oh my.

Looks like I dropped off the face of the earth again...

but, here I am. To say I've been busy is an understatement. With new work things, traffic and happy hour, I have little time left for blogging!

I've made my move to Dallas by now...From one red state to another one. The difference is that the trucks are bigger and the air is a little more toxic.

Aside from conservative christian right wing republican straight white american males at every turn, I am really, really loving it here. You've gotta look for it, but the culture, the diversity, goodness...it's all here, too.

I've been having some philosophical discussions of sorts in regards to attraction...so, I'm busting out the Marge Piercy weapon.

Barbie Doll


This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

english as a second language

Looks like my content area will be English as a Second Language. I'm so excited!!

pennies from heaven?

So, after all that whining...

I got the job!

I'm not sure what my content area is, but it looks like I'll have a classroom in August!

And, I move into my Dallas apartment May 27! It's adorable!

green minus yellow = faye

I'm blue.

I am one of those people who surprises others with how well I react to misfortune...for example, when smoke started coming out of my car on my way to an interview this weekend, I just smiled and looked into it. Don't sweat what you can't control, right? So, I lost my air conditioner. Who cares, right? I showed up sweaty but confident. When I got to this interview that I spent 9 hours driving to and unlimited hours preparing for only to find that the position had been filled earlier that week & so I was interviewing for a position on a waiting list, I said, "well, at least I gained experience." When, on the way home, the clutch in my little (much loved) car gave way and the car coasted along to the side of I35, where it stopped indefinitely- and where I, my husband, our dog & our cat would wait the next 4.5 hours for our family to come from KS and rescue us, I said, "at least our car died next to a meadow!"

I am one of those people who surprises others with how well I react to misfortune...or how well it seems that I react to misfortune. Enter Monday. Enter boughts of laughing and crying at the same time. Enter re-playing the same Friends DVD over and over. Enter emotional eating. Enter grumpy uber-psycho, Faye.

No car. No great new job. No money.

I'm blue.

I know. I know. My perspective is jacked. I will return to normal Faye, somewhere in between the creepy plastered smile when everything is going wrong and the even more disturbing fits of simultaneous laughter/tears.

Somewhere in here, I decided to share a quote that I stole from my once ex friend, Jenn. It is nice not to have an ex friend anymore...especially if I continue to get a stream of inspirational material like the following...

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

By Marianne Williamson
from A Return To Love: Reflections on
the Principles of A Course in Miracles

yep. yep. yep. yep.

So, I got to thinking about personality types. I had already taken the Myers-Briggs test, based off of Jungian theory, but I thought I'd take it again to see if I've changed. Not so much. My results show that I've maintained ultimate flaky-ness. Last time I took it, I remember barely being introverted...I definitely do "charge up" in solitude rather than in a group, but I think I've become a little more introverted with age. My "intuitive" score is up, too. Ever the flaky-er.

I'm curious about what some of you are, so please tell me! Maybe I will just go tag your quiz-taking asses. My little blogger "link-maker" is somehow gone, so you will have to copy & paste:

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

---

Anyways, here is me:

Your Type is...

INFP
Introverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiving
Strength of the preferences %
22 100 75 67

Qualitative analysis of your type formula
You are:
slightly expressed introvert
very expressed intuitive personality
distinctively expressed feeling personality
distinctively expressed perceiving personality

---

Famous INFPs:

Homer
Virgil
Mary, mother of Jesus
St. John, the beloved disciple
St. Luke; physician, disciple, author
William Shakespeare, bard of Avon
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Evangeline)
A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie)
Helen Keller, deaf and blind author
Carl Rogers, reflective psychologist, counselor
Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers' Neighborhood)
Dick Clark (American Bandstand)
Donna Reed, actor (It's a Wonderful Life)
Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis
Neil Diamond, vocalist
Tom Brokaw, news anchor
James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small)
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
James Taylor, vocalist
Julia Roberts, actor (Conspiracy Theory, Pretty Woman)
Scott Bakula (Quantum Leap)
Terri Gross (PBS's "Fresh Air")
Amy Tan (author of The Joy-Luck Club, The Kitchen God's Wife)
John F. Kennedy, Jr.
Lisa Kudrow ("Phoebe" of Friends)
Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years")

precision.

I've been thinking about this poem lately. It is one of my favorites---I am working on seeing people with "the eyes of the heart" instead of the eyes of our rushed, goal-oriented culture. (Working on seeing myself that way, too!) I think this poem speaks to this. It is a long-time favorite; sometimes it even brings tears--not spill-over. Just wells. :)

Read it. I love that Lee doesn't grasp the difference between persimmon and precision in the eyes of his teacher, but he really and truly grasps the essence of persimmon and precision far beyond her assessment of him. I wonder how often our culture misses the essence of life experiences, as we forge ahead with all of the technically correct answers.

Any Meyers-Briggs geeks out there? I think this poem also speaks to ENSP's/INSP's experiences...I remember becoming so obsessed with some creative projects in college that I would choose to turn it in late because I hated the idea of not making it as creative or as special as it was in my head-- My disregard for deadlines in interest of my obsession with the "essense" of my project got me into some trouble...I'm still working on that balance in some ways...okay, a lot of ways. :)

---

Persimmons

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one
will be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,
and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I've forgotten.
Naked: I've forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't eat
but watched the other faces.


My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,
warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents' cellar, I rummage, looking
for something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.

He's so happy that I've come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.

-- Li-Young Lee

---

of mandalas & men. (tibetan monks, that is)

A Series of Awkward Moments: "BlogThis"

hello little blogger friends...I'm back! You know me, falling off of the face of the earth every now and then...but, I always come back. I could never leave you, oh no. The world of three jobs has been treating me a little roughly, so I've not been in an updating place. Of course, I'm also taking classes-- not sure if I'll ever be able to shake that little addiction.

I've just quit my job in the ed. dept. of the zoo, though...I will miss doing community presentations and teaching rug rats how to recycle, but it as it turns out, I'm not really into animals in cages. Or really, I'm just not sure how I feel about it. Zoos really might be our best conservation hope; I might (probably) will change my mind. For now, I think I'm a little more PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals...I know, Don't judge me!) than AZA (American Zoological & Aquarium Assoc.). So, I'm a less busy lady, which is nice...because I've been doing some extra reading up on Buddhism, and I'd like to do some more-- I have been interested in Buddhism as a way of life (not so much as a religion) for awhile, but I recently had the opportunity to see Tibetan monks create a mandala installation (which I think may end up being the inspiration for my first ever tattoo!)...watching them meditate and chant was moving in a way that I don't think I can put words to...You know, maybe it was my expected perception, but it seemed that the spirit of mindfulness and meditation actually gave the room this energy you could almost touch.

I'm now reading a book written by a Buddhist monk: "Working With Anger." A supervisor at my Peace and Justice job gave it to me when I found myself perplexed over what I perceive to be a spirit of anger within today's peace movement...The ironic thing is that in reading this book, I've found so much anger and discontent in myself that I would never have guessed is there...I think people might be surprised where they'll find anger and discontent in their psyche...for me, I think there is a fear of being judged, and a need to be well-thought of. love me! love me! :)

Speaking of being well thought-of, wish me luck, because I have some interviews coming up in a couple of weeks...Unfortunately, there aren't a ton of progressive political organizing positions in the brightest of bright red Dallas, but there are a couple. I'm looking at an environmental campaign and a national organization called ACORN. I'm hoping it will bode well for me that I do organizing for a peace & justice group now (albeit part-time...grassroots, dang-it!). How I wish that I could live near Mia and work for my all time favorite organization (well, right now), Global Exchange!!

I've surely mentioned that I'm hoping to go on a trip w/ Global Exchange this summer, to Nicaragua. This is why I serve up big slabs of meat and fries on the weekends these days. On these trips, you visit sweatshops, the infamous free trade zones, non-fair trade coffee plantations and then fair trade coffee plantations...I'm excited to put some faces to the sweatshop/fair trade campaigns I've been involved in. I've worked on some fair wage stuff here, and I'm currently working on a pretty big (for me) undertaking in promoting fair trade and environtmentally conscious consumerism here, which is the height of fun. Okay, not the height....but, it is fun....

This brings me back to Buddhism, because I think I'm attached to my identity as "helper"...of course, that's consistent with my values, but what if no one ever knew that I did any of this stuff? Would I feel as good about myself, or do I secretly need the stamp of approval? I remember when a person who I ended up becoming close with first met me and made some assumptions about me...I was so offended by her judgement of me, because i think I'm attached to my identity as a survivor, and for her not to perceive me in that way was threatening to me...attachments...attachments...attachment to ego is an interesting idea, isn't?

Sorry for the incomplete thought, but it's super late. I've been putting off going to bed b/c my husband's 24-7 MCAT studies have put him WAY under the weather...and I don't want what he's got.

Quote for today:

"There is more to life than increasing its speed."
-Mahatma Gandhi

the highest of arts.

Well, I'm not really in a writing sort of a place right now, but I wanted to update. So, I'll share my new favorite quote and a photo. The picture is one I took on a canopy tour in Costa Rica; this is a wild orchid high up in the rainforest.

I've decided to pick up an extra job for awhile back in restaurant world, just to sort of keep me on a schedule. I find that I'm not really using the extra time I've had on my hands the way I imagined. I would like to get a job that relates to my degree, but I'm not sure that's a good idea, because I'm moving in the summer...Anyways, when the thought of serving big hunks of meat (which I don't eat) to ungrateful locals turns me off, I think of this quote:

"To affect the quality of days- That is the highest of arts." -Henry David Thoreau

I've always thought that I needed to have a job that "helped people," but then I think of how you can really better people's days just by being nice to them...like the lady at the city hall office who always makes me in a better mood. Thanks city office lady!