"All of us killed in the tidal beauty of coming and going..."

-Leonard Cohen, Book of Longing

Sometimes the way something is said makes the words ring out to me and stick with me. Like my ipod stuck on replay, replay. Haha. Usually sentences or stanzas from certain favorite poems.

Other phrases that are continually stuck in my head, I'll try my best to actually quote them accurately:

"We were very tired,

We were very merry,

We had gone back and forth,

All night on the ferry"

-Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Recuerdo"

"I like my body when it is with your body. It is so new a thing, muscles better, nerves more."

-e.e. cummings

"But love is a room, she said, that's what it is."

-Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer

"It must be a wave you want to glide in on. Give your body to it, give your laugh to it."

-Anne Sexton, "Admonitions to a Special Person"

"Lost in fog and love and faithless fear, I've had kisses that make Judas seem sincere."

-The Hold Steady, "Citrus"

"Put your ear down close to your soul

and listen hard."

-Anne Sexton

"You should go

from place to place

recovering the poems

that have been written for you."

-Leonard Cohen

My life feels a little sleepy these days. That's okay. I'm aware that it's about to get a bit more jumbled up, hopefully in the greatest of ways.

Sometimes the boredom gets to me. I get frustrated. But mostly, I've been feeling this sense of goodwill towards everyone. I want the best for everyone, and I feel like everyone is exceptionally kind back to me.

I woke up last night at like 6 in the morning and couldn't sleep. Usually my mind goes into dark places, but this time, I felt like I was full of light. I was remembering, and instead of making me regret, making me miss, I felt the weightless happiness of remembering, instead of the heavy darkness of nostalgia. This comes from a slow mending and healing. I'm extremely appreciative.

"The days were bright red"

I wish I could cite this, but, unfortunately, I don't know who wrote it.

"And I really have to try so hard

not to fall in love

I have to concentrate when we kiss."

Some honesty

I am afraid of leaving without working things out.

Not that I expect the friendship we had way back during our awkward freshman year--the trips to Taco Bell, the hours of watching Wizard People--but something that lets me know that despite all the massiveness that has happened to us, you'll be in my life in some way after I leave. Is there a small possibility of this? Damn. Freshman year. When you told me you wanted to leave CBU, that you were thinking about being a priest? And I cried? The ironic turns life has since taken...I was surprised to find someone like you existed in my world.

The main thing that has been there, throughout it all: me breaking your heart, you breaking my heart, has been an understanding. I get it. You get it. And paradoxically, we still couldn't communicate like adults.

I guess the first step would be to make eye contact.

But what if you don't want to? What if-----? There are approximately 1.2 million ways this could blow up in my face. More time, or am I just scared?

Writers fight a myriad of internal battles that are difficult to translate to other people. For example, they often have low self-esteem coupled with an odd form of grandiosity (John Barth: “It’s a combination of an almost obscene self-confidence and an ongoing terror.”); they are intelligent but in unmeasurable ways; they are highly skilled yet have difficulty finding congenial work in the world; they are easy-going in their lifestyle yet have unusual and non-negotiable needs; they enjoy people but are fierce about alone time; they are likable but peculiar.

—

Gail Sher, One Continuous Mistake

"From space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. Not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light - a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut's eyes." (p.95, Everything is Illuminated)

Wise dude

"Keeping a journal has taught me that there is not so much new in your life as you sometimes think. When you re-read your journal you find out that your latest discovery is something you already found out five years ago. Still, it is true that one penetrates deeper and deeper into the same ideas and the same experiences."

"Indeed, the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers the most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and so trivial that one can say that it is no longer objective at all. It is his own existence, his own being, that is at once the subject and the source of his pain, and his very existence and consciousness is his greatest torture."

-Thomas Merton, Seven Storey Mountain

I love that book. So many "that's exactly how I feel!" moments.

I think about you.

You, when your eyes get tired and you can't seem to remember where you came from or where you're going.

You, when your nights roll on over in to the morning as you're rolling around in bed.

You, when you can't stop fidgeting.

You, when all you want to do is be a kid again.

You, whose heart is in the process of breaking.

You, when you have closed up and use excuses like "I'm not that into him/her."

You, when you sit with a cigarette you can't stand the taste of, fingers shaking.

You, when you are in the process of forgetting what needs to be forgotten.

I think about you.

This year

has been a lesson in getting through it.

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.

It's been a lesson in remembering to have fun while shit seems to be falling apart around me. Or maybe, remembering to have fun BECAUSE things are falling apart and the center is not holding. Damn. Not to be dramatic, but this year is making me want to start somewhere new. Everything has gotten extremely tied up and complicated in ways I never foresaw.

This weekend

I have been living on the wild side for the past few days. Aka, I drank somewhat heavily for the past three nights, and with this wide perspective, I've realized I've been through just about every kind of drunk there is. Usually, my weekend routine is drink heavily one night, and then curl up into a ball for the remaining part of the weekend. Not this weekend. I was 18-year-old Angela again, and my body hates me because it is no longer 18-years-old.

Here are the kinds of drunk I was:

Smiley, kissy, huggy, I love you and I am the best dancer in the world.

I also send HILARIOUS texts of inside jokes from approximately four years ago.

Nostalgic, omg I am in the same disgusting party arena I was at on the same day last year and things have changed so much.

Which somehow triggers a "I own this place and also the world" response and who the hell do these people think they are.

So, apart from a select few, the look I give everyone is "What the hell are you doing here and why are you trying to dance with me?"

I go fast into a bitter, hateful stage. And then an over-sharing stage with people I don't know all that well.

Then I just get hungry. That's about it.

You look painfully true

How is it that it's somehow freeing not having a car? Shouldn't I be more worried? I can't bring myself to stress out over this. I'm enjoying my bike too much. I know it's dangerous, but I always feel powerful when I ride my bike at night. I don't go too far when it's dark, just down the street to yoga. And I can't wear a helmet. I feel all closed in if I do. Again, I know it's dangerous.

The other day at yoga, I noticed that the guy on the mat across from me had the same hands as someone I know. The exact same hands. It made me catch my breath for a second. And his hand mannerisms were the same. Same skin tone. Does anyone else notice hands like I do? He probably thought I was a creep because I couldn't look away.

Soft punches all the time

Love carries me all around. I don’t want to do anything but love.
Maybe Saint Teresa would like to have me snap out of it, but it is pure, I tell you: I am not attached to it (I hope) and it is love, and it gives me soft punches all the time in the center of my heart. Love is pushing me around the monastery, love is kicking me all around, like a gong, I tell you. Love is the only thing that makes it possible for me to continue to tick.

— Thomas Merton

Happy Ides

Ca-ching! I won $50 for third place prize in the CBU lit journal. I think it's for a poem I sent in. Actually, I don't think I ever put it up here.

Today

Today, when I woke up, I felt the old heaviness put to rest.

The spring called out to me,

To come outside,

To participate in the green and blue world.

To roll my shoulders back and align my spine.

So what can I do, but obey,

Follow this irresistible pull,

This tugging at my fingertips?

Come play.

Come laugh, and shake off the dark.

Let it slide down your back.

The fragments of you still rattle around in my brain,

Some broken shards of glass that my hands are drawn to,

Red and purple stained glass, each distinct and sharp.

Mostly shoulders and a familiarity.

The extraordinary creation of a habit and a rhythm

Of being with another.

It all whispers in my ear, asking me to remember.

Asking to destroy, to toss everything through a window

In a new sort of passion.

But today.

Today I can celebrate myself and sing myself.

Because this was how it began.

Well shit.

Wrecked my car today. I didn't feel any fear, just an "oh shit" feeling thinking about how inconvenient this was about to make my life. Everyone was okay. But the woman I hit, who was startlingly kind, is pregnant. 10 weeks pregnant, which is really fragile. I don't think I hit her hard enough to cause any problems, but that possibility is freaking me out a little. The possibility that it could have been worse freaks me out more.

Anyway, I don't feel much except for annoyance. I guess I'll have a better relationship with my bike over the next couple weeks/month. Or better relationships with people I'll bum rides from. I'm all kinds of tired. All kinds of unmotivated.

I did quit my job, though. I feel great about that, it's very liberating. I'm taking the rest of the semester off and getting my life figured out. Discerning my path and all that good stuff. I have an interview with Lasallian Volunteers this Thursday!

"The heart breaks and breaks

and lives by breaking.

It is necessary to go

through dark and deeper dark

and not to turn."

--from "The Testing-Tree," by Stanley Kunitz

My 8-year-old little sister is reading this book called The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, and this is the epigraph. One day, I want to write a children's book. I love books that are written for children and adults. It reminds me of Madeline l'Engle, who was asked whether she enjoyed writing children's or adult's books (or something) and replied, isn't it the same thing?

Who was it who said that children have the same amount of sadness as adults, but different kinds of sadnesses?

Anyway, by the end of this book, I was sobbing, no joke.

New View

I decided a change in layout was in order. Hope you like it. The above photo was taken by my twin sister, Annette, and it's making me love spring.

Some things I'm thinking about...

Wishing for more sun. Didn't quite get enough at the beach (that was where I was this past week). I describe anything on the Alabama/Florida coast as "the beach." On a similar note, I'd really like to go skinny dipping. I've never really done that. The song "Postcards from Italy" by Beirut is stuck in my head. "We put our features where they had to go." I'm looking for a major shake-up in my life. Inviting it in. Come on. Looking back on the past four or five months, I have done more writing than I've done in my whole life. I won a prize for something I wrote for the CBU lit journal, although I'm not sure what it is yet. I think I get some money. Apparently heartbreak is the recipe for halfway decent writing. Not sure how great of a trade-off that is. This thought keeps popping back up into my mind: I want to get a tattoo. It's a mantra..."Soham," which means "I am that" in Sanskrit. I want to get it between my shoulderblades. It's about recognizing yourself as part of the universe, and the universe as part of you. And everyone as part of you, vice versa. It sounds like hippie shit I know. The word is kind of onomatopoetic...it's the sound you make when you inhale and exhale. It's what I always return to whenever I feel misplaced or displaced or afraid..."so" on the inhale and "ham" on the exhale. And how perfect to have it on the back of my lungs. Aren't your lungs more towards your back than your front? I feel like I learned that at some point, maybe my anatomy is off. It would be tiny. Maybe I should get it somewhere where it would be less showing? I don't show my back off much though...the only other place I'd want it is on my heart, but I can't decide if that would come across as trashy or not. The other question is whether I'd get it in Sanskrit or English. I always picture it in English in my head, mostly because I don't know Sanskrit. And if I got it in Sanskrit, it might appear sort of cliche...

I hope you've enjoyed this stream-of-consciousness.

Plucks me out of my skin

"Whenever this happens

I am usually ready to forgive everyone

who doesn't love me enough

including you, Sahara,

especially you."

-Leonard Cohen, from "My Consort"

The perks of being single...the randomness, the detachment, the big mechanic hands. The turning it all over in my mind the day after. Sometimes when I realize how much I love this peculiar aspect of being single, the awareness of no strings, I feel like a boy. Eh. The strings can fuck with you.

All this craving I do...I've realized that it has its root in attachment. What I was discussing in my last blog entry. Enjoyment, pure and physical enjoyment, is a great thing. But it attaches you to things that ultimately are not lasting. "Physical" is a synonym for "transient."

So, maybe what all these Catholic theologians of the past were getting at is that attachment to these physical things--this craving for food, for affection, for sex, for people--all of it is ultimately of a lesser order than spiritual things, of an order that does not withstand time. The spiritual is what remains. Which is something I just can't seem to pin down anywhere.

Is there a way to enjoy these things, but not crave them when they leave? Life would be a lot less colorful without physical things. But in the end, you're left with a gap and craving and need. Is this my lesson?

There are many reasons why I haven't found it easy to jump on the Catholic bandwagon for the past. This one occurred to me today. I think that bodies are awesome. The way they move, the things they do. I love it all. And yet, it has been instilled in me since I was a child that I have to keep my body in check, I have to cover up, I have to criticize my own and keep others' bodies at a healthy distance (especially in my family--not cuddlers). I guess this is kind of true...my body will want to eat a pound of ice cream a day, and that's not healthy. It's moderation obviously. But I digress. Most of what the body wants is not a bad thing! We want these things for a reason.

And I'm also getting cultural body hatred mixed up in this. But the denial--that is a very Catholic thing. The general restraint in the rituals. The fasting during Lent. The no sexing up, unless you are not using contraception, married, and are completely open to having children. The expectation of modesty, the fear of sexuality in general.

But then, my own current method of spirituality--this little yoga stint I'm on...there's a lot of restraint in that too. It's a letting go, and that's exuberant, in a way, but it's a lot of restraint. This isn't really an argument, just an observation. I don't know if you can be Catholic and be a physical person.

I always forget about how transparent I am until someone asks "What's wrong?" and for a second I'm like "What do you mean?" Apparently, all of my emotions are constantly scribbled across my face. I am very self-conscious of this, I wish all of this wasn't seeping through my pores 24-7. Lately, I catch myself concentrating on making my face blank, expressionless. But expression is what it's all about, right? What am I worried about others seeing? Does anybody else have this near-constant awareness of their facial expressions?

Loneliness does not come from having no people around one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.

— Carl Jung