For this afternoon.

thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
wich is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
— ee cummings

It has been a really wonderful 24 hours.

I just woke up feeling euphoric. I have this most mornings. Even if my alarm clock is blaring, I feel sort of on top of the world. It’s a gift, I suppose. I think it’s the feeling of blankets, partly, and how I’m not thinking about much else yet, so the feeling of blankets really takes me over. And then I notice my open window, and that it is raining, and that also makes me ever so slightly giddy. I smile a lot. And then, I realize that I am probably totally insane, because it is practically a law of nature that no one feel this way in the morning.

I downloaded some new tunes last night:

“Under the Ivy” by Kate Bush

• (I found this in the background of one of Sabrina Ward Harrison’s artistic videos  dubbed the “True Living Project”)

“Neon Bible” by the Arcade Fire

• (Also discovered in one of Sabrina Ward Harrison’s videos)

“God is in the House” by Nick Cave

• I remembered watching this live at a friend’s house and loving it a lot.

A little more Over the Rhine stuff including, “Anything at All,” “Ohio,” “Drunkard’s Prayer,” and “Suitcase.”

I downloaded on my back deck with a glass of $3.50 red wine, and a Djarum clove cigarette. It was delicious. It was cool out so I threw on two sweatshirts. It was good. A good, good night. People were asleep in the house. People who had fought like cats and dogs earlier. People who are finally not my parents, but sadly my friends, who I feel are too young to be fighting like maniacs for love to finish all their unfinished sentences, and weigh in for them, when they didn’t feel quite good enough. I’ve done it. I’ve fought that way for someone. And I’ll never do it again. Because it wasn’t him I was really fighting for. It was for something to make me feel complete. The problem is that a relationship can make some people, people like me feel complete at the beginning, especially if there’s any sort of physical stuff involved, because most men jump at that and decide it’s love and they’ll say it is in your ear, that they’re falling in love with you, that you are perfect, that they want this forever. And then a couple of months pass, and things dry out. And you’re left screaming from the stairs that it doesn’t feel the same, and now you’re depressed, and you just wish he was the answer like he was at the beginning.

I’m so glad God took me up out of that. I hope hope hope that I’ll never have to go through that with anyone again. I think it’s soooooooooooooo important that people become whole, at least mostly whole on their own–or with very close friends. I feel like I’m definitely on that road. I feel whole. I feel different. And I know that I am. It’s nice to feel assured. To feel confident in your own belief in yourself.

It’s nice. Because getting to this place. This point where I am totally okay on my own makes me feel as if anything really is possible. Like, I am suddenly worth being madly in love with an awesome person, and I suddenly totally believe it will happen. I also am suddenly worth so much that I can keep myself company for life, if need be (though I would rather not, because sometimes it would be nice to have someone to keep me in check when I drift off into insanity and feeling overly euphoric when waking up to a screaming alarm clock). I am also worth a trip to Europe someday, and some good art time with friends, where I can expose the stuff I usually keep to myself.

I read this absolutely wonderful thing by e e cummings. The last sentence of it is this, “Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question”

I finally think I understand what it means: That whoever asks a more beautiful question, is a beautiful answer. Because they ask such questions, they, in themselves, are an answer.

I really enjoyed that. And I believe in it.

It also reminds me of this by Anais Nin:

“The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.”

I hope you all feel as much possibility on the wing as I do. I hope this good feeling doesn’t die away too fast. Time for coffee and Mother’s Day and reading David Sedaris and rain and laundry and spray paint art with Jessica. Yum.

I saw a man playing violin…

Today, on the corner as I exited the highway onto the Beltline. People were handing him bills out their windows as they turned and just watching the little transaction, the old man playing music and the people expressing appreciation made me feel so good. I watched and smiled at myself and humanity because it is still good–it is still good to be a part of this all.

Tonight I saw Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi, speak at Calvin’s Festival of Faith and Writng. It was phenomenal. I was a little concerned as I’ve become a bit more unsure as to how I would label myself spiritually. I find that I usually enter into situations involving faith, such as this conference, and many area churches with my mind prepared to reason and criticize everything that occurs. It’s kind of hilarious, because I love spirituality, whatever that means. And I feel compelled to believe in a higher power that is good and loves love and loves me and everyone else. But, more and more, I cannot justify there being one right way to him or her or it or whatever. I like Jesus a lot. I think I may like Jesus’s way more than the rest. But, I’m not sure.

That uncertainty makes my chest feel like a soggy meatball. I feel tender and vulnerable, as if I’ve just stepped somewhere dangerous, and I’m waiting for the ax to fall. But, if I am to be completely honest, I cannot say right at this moment that I believe one way over another to the extent that I would claim one religion as my own. Then again, I like Jesus. Did I mention that already? I feel tied in knots.

The truth is, though, that if I am to understand this concept of faith, and of grace for that matter, I’m going to have to sit with this uncertainty for a while. I’m going to have to take steps in faith rather than in reason, which is something I’m not sure I really know how to do. But, I do believe that the supernatural power that is out there likes authenticity, so I’m going to try to just be honest. It’s funny, because I have all this trust in me that says, “He/She/Whatever will take me to where he/she/whatever wants me to be.” I feel like I’m just walking in circles.

Anyway, Yann Martel gave an excellent talk about his novel, and about how he was trying to express how the better story is always the more extreme, less believable story. It is a story that still works; it could happen. But it’s not very plausible. This is the story of faith. That religion, that belief is so difficult because it does not coincide with reason. Not completely. So, we must leap. And the leap provides us with a more beautiful experience–with a better story. He also discussed what we refer to as Universalism. I really want to go into this, but feel like I wouldn’t be able to do what he said justice with my own words here. Especially since I am dead tired. I suppose I’ll simply provide you with one quote I enjoyed: “Truth is a word that should be used only when you can empirically test it. Matters of faith cannot be empirically tested. I don’t know the truth. Right now I have to act on faith, which is me looking at the world through my story; through the stories of Jesus and Siddhartha and so on.” (Okay…I changed some of it at the end, so that it would work out grammatically. My notes were a little crazy).

Anyway, tomorrow I go see the Dalai Lama!!!

This is so good. I feel like this is the perfect way to start a summer vacation, especially since I am dubbing this summer “Freedom Summer.” For once, I won’t be working a job that makes me feel like a farm animal. I won’t be futilely fighting for a relationship to work. I won’t be taking care of teenagers, having no time to allow myself a measure of peace. I will be working at the cafe mostly, just sipping coffee and reading tons and tons and tons of books, and writing things I’d never dreamed of writing. I want to go places with my words that I never allow myself to go. I want to expose parts of myself to the page, in effort to heal a little bit more, to become a little bit more whole, and to feel a bit more spaciousness in the world around me. I also plan on meditating. And engulfing myself in prayer and beautifully deep friends.

Anyway, I must go to bed. I begin driving at 6:30 tomorrow morning to Ann Arbor. I am beyond excited.

May you all feel as free as I do now.

This afternoon found me…

pulling shots of espresso and pouring their deep rusted cream into mochas and caramel lattes for everyone coming in from the rain. It is such a good day to be here. My own coffee sits beside me, whipped cream falling out of its cloudy shapes into a single layer of soft white.

There is only one woman here now, at a table near the front windows. She is reading the newspaper, while I am creating this weblog. I feel like a cheeseball for doing it. I could write in a journal. But, there’s something in me that wants to tell my stories, that wants to just put them out where someone may stumble upon them. I want to share. So, here I am, creating the space I need to lay my mind out for whoever, for whatever.

The Boss is tapping his thick scratchy voice through the speakers: “Fear’s a powerful thing. It’ll turn your heart black, you can trust. Take your God-fearin’ soul, and fill it with devil’s and dust.”

Lately, I’ve been probing my psyche for the deeper fears and worries I keep: that I will not get good grades this semester which will bring down my GPA which will keep me from getting into a good grad school which will prevent me from earning any money to pay off my college loans which will leave me homeless on Division struggling to survive; that my mother will keep hoping for a miracle to make my father a compassionate, less asshole-ish sort of person, and I will become so utterly exhausted by the futility of hoping; that I will become fat; that I will not be able to afford my life even now; that I will never find love again, or that I will ruin the poor man I do find with all of my nasty little insecurities; that I will destroy myself with all of my worries and insecurities and baggage by clutching and grasping and moving so fast that I will never see any light at all, and just descend into darker and more bleak territory.

The rain is so nice right now. So good to me.

Sabrina Ward Harrison once wrote something along the lines of, “Make what you most need to find.” This summer I would like to make some space in my life to slow down and forgive and let go and move on. I want to spend time making little gardens in window boxes to set on the little walk out from my bedroom in our apartment. I want to make a nice reading area in my room. I want to make paintings and pieces of art that take something out of me so that I can deal with it more consciously and directly. I want to write–write a lot. And that is partly why this place is here.

I wish I had time to take a nap. But end of term papers loom over my head. May you all have time for a leisurely nap to take you out of the race for a while.