You Move Me

I can remember being in the third grade and standing in my kitchen in Somewhere, USA. The house was all but empty, the refrigerator stood strangely naked of its usual eclectic covering made up of mine and my siblings artwork, the cabinet doors concealed nothing but empty shelves, the floor held the marks from my roller skates that Mom let me roll around the table in. I heard the voices of strange men and women in my front yard laughing and talking with my parents. And all around me, I could feel the air settling. It was a strange feeling that still sends chills up my spine. My family was moving. After a few moments of solitude, the door swung open with all the force my brother could muster. It slammed into the wall, and for once I didn't worry that it would leave a hole in the wall.

"Come on! We're waiting for you!" he yelled; not unpleasantly, but with all the excitement he couldn't conceal.

I gave the room one last sweeping glance, grabbed my book bag, and ran outside as I heard the screen door squeal and bang behind me from excessive use for the last time. I felt my little white sandals fill with sand as I ran across the dirt driveway. After a short prayer for safety, my brothers, sisters, and I climbed into the strange van. I scooted across the long bench seat to watch the only home I could ever remember disappear in a cloud of dust the tires kicked up, and so began our journey to a new house I'd never seen.

Today (yet again), I have been reading Sylvia Plath's unabridged journals. Sylvia Plath; Aunt Sylvy. She makes me think things that I never have considered. I feel things that I have never felt. She saw the world so differently, and I am just a student, awe-struck by her voice. She has a way of writing exactly what I feel, finding the words that seem to elude me, and yet, she was so dissatisfied with her work and her life. I was reading one of her entries today about how much she wished she were as talented as a peer. If only she could have seen herself through different eyes...maybe she'd still be alive today.

I've never wanted to meet a poet/writer so badly before I began reading her work. I realized this afternoon that because of Aunt Sylvy, I feel as if I've crossed a threshold. There comes a point in each of our lives when we realize that things will never go back to "normal." One of my favorite bands, The Goo Goo Dolls, has a line in their song "Iris" that I always think about when I feel the present becomes history. They sing, "And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming, or the moment of truth you realize. When everything feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive." It's hard to unlearn something or to actually learn it for the first time.

As children, we are fascinated with the world around us. The changing colors of the trees or the little green sprouts bursting through the warm earth. We don't understand all the scientific and cultural rules yet, and everything is exciting--and somewhat magical. Aunt Sylvy writes in her stream of consciousness journal entry:

After being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens....To go from this to the world of "grown-up" reality. To feel the tender skin of sensitive child-fingers thicken...to become aware of school, exams (the very words are as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard,) bread and butter, marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, death and self. What a terrible blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood. Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?

But despite this feeling of "new-ness," I can't help but feel a level of excitement. I have been so desensitized and callous toward so many words, thoughts, and ideas lately--that her voice has hit me like an unexpected rainstorm in the middle of a drought. Although she scares me, I know that some of our greatest experiences are born out of fear...or rather the conquering of that fear. Aunt Sylvy and I have a lot of life, love, and thoughts yet to discuss, but one thing I know for sure is that with each word of hers, I am changing.

And sometimes I get nervous when I see an open door. Close your eyes, clear your heart, cut the cord. --The Killers "Human"

Oh but you move me

You give me courage I didn't

Know I had

You move me on

I can't go with you

And stay where I am

So you move me on

--Susan Ashton "You Move Me"

Carpe Diem = Fish of God

First of all, Happy February!

I love new beginnings. I guess that's why I'm a "morning person" (much to the annoyance of my family). One of my favorite lines from Anne of Green Gables is, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it." I think that pretty much sums it up for me. No matter how horrific the day before was, chin up! There's always tomorrow. And with a brand new month ahead, who knows what will happen!

I'm not sure if the world is aware yet, but I am a huge Dave Matthews fan. He is a phenomenal lyricist and musician. I find it quite difficult to label his music exactly because it is so eclectic. He was born in South Africa, grew up in New York and Virginia, and calls Seattle home...and with all of those distinct musical influences, it's no wonder his music speaks to so many people. Several days ago, I spent some time learning about him and his journey to fame. I was absolutely shocked to hear about all the heartache and tragedy he has endured. Yet, despite all of the unhappiness he has seen, his music is characterized by his carpe diem lyrics.

As corny as it sounds, there is something about his music that speaks to me. I want to do all the things I've always dreamed of. Maybe this month will be the a month for the books. Maybe I'll get my foot in the door of all the things I've been too afraid to try. Who knows.

All I do know is: Carpe diem! Seize the day! (Not "Fish of God" courtesy of a dear professor :)

The Lord is There

This poem was written on June 5, 2009. I work at an all girl's camp called Camp Pinnacle, and as part of our training for the camp season. This particular poem was a response to an exercise that we were to complete in solitude...just us being real and open before the Lord. We were each given a name of the Lord, we were asked to dwell and meditate upon it. The name I was given was "The Lord is There."

You were there. You were there in the beginning when light came screaming out of your mouth;
When you heard the cry of Hagar in the wilderness.
You were there in the lion's den. You kept Danial safe from the brutal and ferocious beasts.
You heard the cry from a barren woman.
You were there when Hannah had her first baby.
You were there the night Nicodemus asked what it meant to be "born again,"
You were there when the stock market crashed.
Modern times have not diminished your presence or your power.
Economic strife holds no mystery or challenge for you-
You are here even now.
You know me by name- you hear me when I call to you.
You hear my laughter, you see my tears.
You know my voice, my soul, my motives, my every thought.
You are here.
The Lord is here.
The Lord is there!
May it be evident in my every action.
Work in me in such a way that others say, "The Lord is There!"