I was at a birthday party last night and someone started singing "Tom Dooley" with a very up-beat and happy sounding tune, instead than its own rather introspective and slightly sad feeling melody. This of course sparked much conversation at that end of the table, ranging from the ridicululousness of singing "Tom Dooley" to anything but "Tom Dooley," to whether Tom really killed Laura/Laurie or not, and if he did, what his motiveation was. So this evening, being Thursday, I went and found the lyrics to said "Tom Dooley." Here is the best site I found: http://www3.clearlight.com/~acsa/introjs.htm?/~acsa/songfile/TOMDOOLE.HTM. There were a few other sites with the version the Kingston Trio sings, but this site gave the most background info, as well as a few more verses.

Random thought of the evening: jasmine tea is wonderful. Just add a little raw sugar, a very little mind you. Sip slowly and listen to good music. It will cure a host of ills, real and imaginary.

Second random thought of the evening: small-ish black tea cups are enchanting. I have one named Barker. It is the perfect shape and size for sipping jasmine tea.

Third random thought of the evening (and this one is not connected to the previous two): I want to be like the sanctuary flame that burns before the Tabernacle. Always before the Lord, perhaps wavering and flickering, but never extinguished. Consumed by and at the same time consuming the purest form of Love.

One-sided conversations with my newly discovered fountain pen...as yet I have not figured out how to make it answer me...

"Hello? Do you work? Will you continue to work for me? I will use you faithfully if you will, for you flow as smoothly as my thoughts are wont and the idea of using real flowing ink is enchanting."
"Do you still work? I think so."
scratch -- scratch -- twist -- turn -- press -- hold higher -- bend lower hmm, write, think slower, you can't write as fast...

Fog's cleared, hills are still haze covered, the trees indistinct. I feel a quiet happiness and satisfaction at having figured out how to make this work. Now I feel as if my thought are as flowing and free as the ink that flows from the tip of my pen.

"Why don't you want to work? I want to use you in a fitting manner, perhaps take you to class, but if you don't behave and give me a steady ink flow then you are no good to me and it's back in the drawer with you!!!"
"It's very unkind of you not to behave on a regular basis. How am I supposed to learn to write beautifully if you won't work when I want to practice? It's all very, very unkind...Or perhaps its my fault, perhaps it that I don't know how to use you to the best of your ability. Because you seem to be working quiet nicely now...but then again it might e a fluke and I am just being deluded into thinking that I really have gotten the hang of this and you really are going to start behaving now..."

I wanted to write this one because I had been listening to some of the girls talk about their families. It was all very funny, and it made me happy to hear them laughing and talking together. I wanted to try and capture the mood, light and cheerful. But something happened while I was writing, and this is what came out instead.

Laughing talking
stories shared, all before my eyes.
Cold stone beneath me
reminding me of where I belong.
I love to hear others
yet rarely speak myself
longing to be noticed but unwilling
to draw attention.
Is not the joy of another enough
for me, what need for more
have I?
The moon is sustained by reflected light
why then should I seek
a source from within myself?

~ ~ ~
This one I was working on all day...it was one of those days. I warn you, gentle reader, I indulged the melodramatic portion of myself while writing this... Of course it may well have been the four cups of coffee and the fact that it was nearly 2am...

I cry to the Wind
the tears that pride refuses
to let fall filling my voice
"Where has he gone-
Can you see him still-
he that travels
the long road,
the road drawing him
continually away from me?"
"Hush, small one" whisks
the dry North wind
"he is here, coming
toward me now
to my deep, pine shaded abode."

The clouds that filled the sky
have been swept away,
swept along the floor of the heavens
as so much dust.
The stars shine cold
filling the very air
with their clear hazy light.
As the moon is slowly drawn
below the crest of the hill,
a chill finger of air swirls about me
causing me to shiver
shifting on cold stone
hearing again what is not there to be heard.
I sift through words thoughts
trying to piece together
what I had held so precariously
and let fall.
Gradually a simulacrum
of the sensible and practical forms,
and the wandering Muse,
who had kidnapped my bedfellow Sleep,
is appeased with the small stream
flowing from my soul.
Following that false semblance
and the shadow of lost Sleep
I betook myself to bed.

It's Thursday night, and that means it is time for another edition of "random thoughts" (although, I don't know that ever time for anything other than random thoughts).
Tonights random thought: people often, if not always, outgrow things and places before they can move onto something new. I find this to be very interesting. I know it was the case for me, before I left home to come to school. I had been ready to leave for over a year, but because of the way things were, I could not. A number of my friends here in the senior class have also "outgrown" being in school, but the year is not over, so they wait. Waiting is so frustrating sometimes. I do hope that I do not outgrow being here too soon...

~ ~ ~
Today is the feast day of St Pio (Padre Pio) who I was just informed is the (or one of the) patron saint for finding a husband...
well, be that as it may, Padre Pio, ora pro nobis.

Unfinished poem...

Sitting in a little room
that is not my own
the white walls looming, towering
I quiver with emotions
I do not feel
pain already cauterized
loss already accepted.
Distraction is sought
work comes with effort
desired not for its own end
but for the sake of the block
which is provides my words.

Kneeling in a little room
that is not my own
the cool silence pressing, close
I am still
offering pain and loss
seeking knowledge of Another's Will
beside me...

Ack!!! I have a problem: I am the oldest and I think like it which in turn means I act like it. Now this is ordinarily not a problem, but when my friends start acting foolish, it starts coming out. The urge to take them in hand and make them take care of their homework on time, or clean their room, or do whatever it is they are currently be moaning the lack of ability to do, is nearly irresistible. And so, in order not to come off as a bossy little so-and-so, I become rather insensitive and seemingly uncaring. This does not help them or me. And so I sit, while they complain about not finishing the work before class, and how much they want to take a break from class work, or how miserable they are because this person is avoiding them or won't talk to them, or... the list goes on and on. I don't know how to give advice in such a way as to not come off as telling them how to run their lives. The art of suggestion has yet alluded my grasp. Thus, I continue to watch them be unhappy and listen to them ask me what to do to make things right, all without the ability to make things better.
There, my big sister/mother needs/instincts have been taken care of, at least for the time being. I can go back to being insensitive and handing out flippant advice. Hurrah for instant publishing!

I went for a walk this evening around the perimeter of campus. I'd been feeling slightly sad and weary of heart, and having a good amount of studying to do this evening, it was all I could afford. The sun had just set beyond the hills to the west of campus and the ridges to the east were drenched with a golden pink glow that somehow masked the dead brown they usually are. The birds that I know are somewhere around here but usually see no sign of were out and singing to each other as they harvested their evening meal of insects. As I headed up the hill, I was reminded why skirts are usually abandoned when walking, but as I am lazy, I simply put up with having my stride shortened by nearly half. I round the corner and catch a glimpse of the near half moon, glowing with the light leftover from the sunset. My thoughts drift back to yesterday, the hike, sunset and moonglow, the sound of the birds chattering down on the lake shore in the small valley, the peaceful restlessness I had felt. I was brought back to the present by the ache and wobbling my legs as I headed down the hill. I was rather glad I was wearing a skirt then, being observed to have one's knees shake and feel like stiff jello is somewhat embarrassing (though telling about it afterward is not ;-). Wandering through the temp buildings that currently serve as offices for the school faculty, I heard the laughter of small voices from the field below. Walking up I could see a mother on a red blanket, with a little bit of a girl tottering in the grass beside her. Down she toppled, only to laugh, and again stand up, her red hair seeming to be a lost snippet of the sunset that was now fading from the hills. I stood watching, gratefully unobserved for a short period of time. I am convinced that sight has a weight of its own, for within a few moments the mother looked up, saw me on the hill and waved. Calling out to the precariously balanced tot, I waved in return and continued on, hearing the shouts and chatter of her siblings fade into the background silence. Now twilight and dusk both have given way to the night and the moon has her own proper shine. I can see little out the window, my reflection being tossed back at me through the blinds seeming to chide me for the time spent on this instead of my studies. Silly reflection, and almost equally foolish source, it will all get done in time.

What does it mean to "lose your self"? Something in me is telling me to "lose my self" and I am not really sure what it means. Self giving? Sacrifice? I feel as if I were caught by a bit of spiderweb, its just enough to feel, to know its there, but I can't quite shake it off. I need to figure this out. But, for now this need is not a weight, but a sense of being drawn along...hmmm, its becoming hard to explain. I think I will return to my books. It's so nice to be able to read what one wants for a day.

Random thought of the evening: angels love. Yeah, yeah, I know, that's along the lines of "um, duh?" but think about what that means. Angels are pure spirit, they have intellect, but no bodies, which means any motions (i.e. emotions) come from their will. They love, hate, have anger, all without feeling. Emotions have are based in the will. I think this is really cool, and very reassuring at times when I feel nothing, but know that I still love.

~ ~ ~
I am sitting in a small white room, listening to Indigo Girls, and waiting for phone calls that I hope will not come. I was reminded today that sleep is actually a very pleasant past time and perhaps ought not to be bartered so easily. It seems that as I become busier, when I need time I can always get up earlier and go to bed later. I mean, what else am I going to do with the time? As long as I can function everything is good. Until you start needing enormous mugs of very strong coffee to get you though the morning...
Its Thursday night - the week went by so quickly. I am still sorting out the events of last week-end, and have not yet gotten to the things of this week, and now I have another week-end looking at me over the head of Friday. I once heard somewhere that there is a theory that the speed of light is slowing down. I hope that is true, I can use all the time I can get a hold of.
Which brings to mind a song that I have always liked "Time in a Bottle." Poor song, its now trying to compete with the Indigo Girls, and is not making much headway. How does it run...? "If I could hold time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do, is save every day til eternity passes away, just to spend it with you..." I think the lyrics are on my door...if they aren't, they should be.
Closing thought: someday (hopefully soon), I am going to learn the art of letter writing. I don't think that its a dead art, its just moved into the underground...

Conversation Threads

While sleep beckons through the scent of leather
Voices murmur, ebb and flow
The crimson thread runs on before me
Gliding and dancing beyond my grasp.

Confusion piques interest
The thread for a moment is mine
Distinctions unravel the bit in my grasp
And it runs on again.

Wandering from here to there
Finding such depth in narrow passages
The crimson is lost among the shadows
Fading in and out of sight.

Agreements reached, clarified, revised
The thread appears tangled before my eyes
Then class is over and motionless it sits
The crimson thread waits to be taken up again.

All I have to say about class last night has been summed up quite well by one of my classmates.

Voids in Seminar
~Wyoming

One wonders where the void is
Within fluorescent rooms
It is amoung the bodies
And may await at tombs
Even more than here or there
I know where it lies
As I cease to really care
Void becomes my heart's cries.

~ ~ ~
On a brighter note, lab is getting cool. We got to play with fire today. Fire is good.

Why is it that the discovery of something so precious and beautiful can rock your world to its foundations? After Mass this morning, I found myself with my head burried in my arms, shaking with the desire to sob and not allowing myself to. I begged to be shown what it is I am to do, grasping the only sure thing I have left, my desire to do only God's will. (and I can't even really call that "mine," for it is only by grace I can even cling to that) No answer came, nothing but a feeling of having once again given myself over, a sense of surrender.

~ ~ ~
Freedom - love - trust - friendship
where does one end and the other begin? the lines, if there were any in the first place, are bluring, and they keep merging and melting into each other...

~ ~ ~

(and now for something completely different...)
To be sung to a low, jazzy tune:

Denique, meum amatum hic venit
meas tristes dies victas sunt
et vita carmen est.

by the Sprit, after studying Latin vocabulary on two hours of sleep.

And throwing myself into such illustrious company as I find out here, I too will share my offerings to the Muse...

Be still...

leaning back
encircled but not caged
close but not bound
free but held in place
warm skin, rough shingle
rest comes so easily
trees over head
stars above shining through
breeze stirs
sents mingle, tease
voices low, cease
the rest cannot be

~ ~ ~

(titles have never been a forte, and so this one will do without)

Hand move gently across my back
feeling the warmth through the fabric of my shirt
softly, softly drawing out
each deep sigh.

Head resting upon my knees
the heavy weight of hair thrown over my shoulder
work tempered hand caress my neck
tenderly pressing hidden pain into oblivion.

"Does it really go on forever?"
lying on the roof, hair filled with leaves
"I think so." Made by God, infinite in nature
ought not His cape share this too?

Stolen thoughts...

I wandered into my room last night and found these. I asked and was told I could do what I wanted with them...

Nicotine Spins
~Gigi

My dry lips stick to the paper
as I savor the fumes and heat
of my cigarette
I take off my shoes as the warmth
stretches past my toes
and the world around me
moves in nicotine spins
I see a dog rolling in the cool grass
and my bare feet covet the sensation
But my perfectly practical skirt
refuses to surrender to childlike impulses
So I sit, confined to my cigarette
And think of you
The smell of smoke
and the embers of a weak flame
mark the times we had
and the awkward moments we now possess
If I could love you
the way I want to
my feet would not move
in anticipation
ready to travel the great distances
it would have to take to touch your heart
I desire to frantically revive the dying and the dead,
the intense fragility
that fills the space between
my life and yours
and the last breaths of strange incense
but the weary organ that lives in this cage of flesh
beats against my compulsion
and stays my trembling hand.

~ ~ ~

(this one did not have a title...)
~Gigi

Perhaps it was the gin
and whiskey, when
in the first lighting of cold stars
I tugged impatiently
at your sleeve
pick me instead?
The tears flowed free
just like the liquor
and your hands touched my cheek
wiped away my tiny rivers
and cleaned new glasses with your dirty shirt
Maybe it was the moonlight
that caused your lips to taste
like the sweet savor of spring
to the tiniest of flowers
and the dark quiet of night
that transformed my plain face
into something of beauty to you
but just
as your love is a moon
whose cycles are ever changing
I am the sun
and while the warm rays of my arms
reach out to comfort your
wandering heart
the night has now turned to
day
and the mysteriously seductive light
has become the exposing and cruel
sun
and all that is left
is the smell of
gin.

The Sprit walks in yesterday and drops a note on the desk: "Come see me ASAP (take your time)" I finish up and wander down the hall. As I open the door, she says "Ok, let's go" I take in the bookbag, small cooler, the hat, and ask if I should change and bring a water bottle. Within 10 minutes we are heading down the highway, windows down and I am feeling free. I had no idea where we were going, but it did not matter. (I admit it was very, very hard not to ask, being the control freak that I am) Down the Grade, hit the beginning of town.
"Thats the road to Rich's house," she says.
"Yes, but can you get there once you turn on it?" I reply.
"Perhaps."
We continue on down the road. "We're going to Vons" she suddenly pipes up. Ok, I think, we're having bread and cheese for lunch. The required victuals are purchased and we go on. I still haven no idea where we are going to end up, and the curiosity is about ready to leap out of my mouth. So I calmly refrain from speaking, watching the houses and trees pass us by.
"Oh," she seems surprised "we're going to the beach."
How she can read my mind, and not know it, I will never fathom.
We drive up, find a parking space and pile out. The sand is hot under my bare feet. The salt spray, the sound of the sea gulls, the random yip of a dog, sing to me of freedom. We have 20 minutes to eat our lunch if we are to get back to school in time for classes, but we somehow make them stretch.
Sitting there, feeling the sun on my skin, the east wind running his fingers lightly through my hair, I could feel the tension of the week lifting from my shoulders, the tightness melting from my back.
As we drive back, I murmer "Thank you...I needed that so much"
"I thought you did. I don't know why, but I thought you did."

God is good.

Odd isn't it, how thinking about something you want or seek to be will make you so profoundly aware that you lack it. Until I was reminded that I must be content with where God has me at the moment, I was happy with how things are. Granted they weren't perfect, but then things never are. But since I've been thinking about it, I am satisfied with nothing. Not my habits and interests, not the things that up until a few days ago gave me pleasure, not even the distractions that I seek out. I wander around wanting something more, or something to change. Discontentment has planted itself with in my breast, and my efforts at killing it are failing. I look around at my life and there is nothing more I can do bring satisfaction. I have no more time to give, and I feel like if I give any more, I will have nothing left of myself to give either.
One slip - a small crack - a single doubt, that's all it takes for the Devil to get in and the fall begins once again.
ye gods, I hate falling....

I feel like I am drowning in a small, shallow pool of filthy water. I want to scream, but it would only hasten the inevitable end. There is no use in kicking or thrashing, there is no one to come and help.
The only time I really feel the desire to cause myself physical pain is when I am so frustrated I start to shake. Somehow the pain becomes something real and solid, something I can grasp and embrace. The tension that has built up in me finds release in the flow of blood. It gives me something to focus on, other than the thing outside me I can not grasp or fix or partake in.
I walked into that room this evening hoping I would come to understanding and increase knowledge. But there was nothing, mindless drivel. Is it my own stupidity??? Am I just not able to understand what is being said, how it applies to anything? How it is supposed to illuminate the material?

No, I did not actually harm myself... there is a reason I do not yet own a knife....

What is it about this mode of communication that makes people feel safe to write what they do? I've told more about myself in the last however-long it's been since I started this thing, to more people (I think) than I would otherwise tell in a year to my close friends... why is this? Is it the anonymity? Probably not, I have a feeling most of the people who read this know who I am. Interesting....
~ ~ ~
I went wandering over the week-end with my roommate, the Sprit and Toque. It was one of the most unique and enjoyable days of my life. I had only a vague notion of where we were headed and I didn't care. This was a great accomplishment for me, being the control freak I am. We went up mountain and down mountains, crossed deserts and drove through scrub forests. I saw some of the most desolate expanses of land I have ever seen, either driving or flying, and this includes some of the towns we drove through. I've always known I had the blood of wanderers in me, but now I can feel it.

(excerpt of letter written 2 Sept. edited for content)

 

Hey, you remember last night when we were speaking about “the familiar ache”? I’ve been thinking about what you said and what I said (for what it was worth) and listening to music (which often will conjure up the Ache as well as any sunset or silent forest) and it occurred to me that it what I was feeling was a sense of loss. But not a loss of something I had or ever possessed. A loss of a part of me, a weight on the center of my being, painful to the point of being a physical ache. Some times so strong I have trouble drawing breath. And yet, beautiful beyond words (which is exactly why I am trying to write now…hope springs eternal, and all that…)

 

perhaps this Ache (sorry, I see it in that way in my mind and so it appears on the page that way)Â…perhaps this Ache is part of what makes us human. When God made Adam, He saw that it was not good for the man to be alone. Mayhap, our first father shared this Ache, this longing for some the inexpressible (if it were possible for someone who sees God to desire something else). Perchance this is why God made EveÂ… it may be that this Ache is our desire to be united with someone is a way that is no longer possible because of the Fall. But because of our human nature, we still share itÂ….

 Why do we keep trying to explain what this is? What is it in us that seeks to know what we are feeling and why? Why canÂ’t it be enough to know that it is a beautiful and oh-so-very human yearningÂ…

 

Life is starting to kick into gear, well school life anyway. I haven't the foggiest what "real life" consists of; to me its this amorphous collection of things you have to do, places you can't go anymore, and bills. Somehow bills are always associated with the haze that is "real life". I was talking (random tangent: is there a difference between talking to someone and speaking with someone? I wonder??) anyway, I was mulling over a somewhat related thread with Toque last night. He said that no matter what state of life you're in - real, school, after school, somewhere in between - you need to stop every once in a while and just look around at the beauty of life and the world (I am not doing justice to his words...)
I think this year will be full of wandering and exploration. Campus and the hills around are beautiful and work wonders on a restless soul, but I want to see more. Its a good thing that the Sprit has Darling and that she is in decent condition. For the road is calling, and there is a tug on my heart that will not be ignored, and my feet have too long tread the same trail...
---
And now back to your regularly scheduled broadcast....