1. 17:18 4th Feb 2013

    Notes: 2

    Reblogged from benrfisher

    So here, in the midst of commercials and a culture that objectified women and their bodies and in the middle of a sports spectacle that construes power in terms of violence, Beyoncé began her performance by upending the narrative.
     
  2. when you are reminded.

    I try to not miss what you were not.

    You didn’t drink tea without sugar. I didn’t like that much. You didn’t read books. I liked that even less. You didn’t birth ideas – not to me anyway. We only spoke in pre-scripted dialect, tones and alphabets pieced together by people we can’t remember the names of.
     

    I try to not miss what you were not

    Because I like my tea strong and bitter. It makes my water taste sweet.
    I like to read books. They teach me how to suffer. How to be joyful. How to listen. How to be human.
    And there is nothing I like more than a crisp idea, gently whispered in my ear. I like to dwell with them, and watch them sink into every nook of life, rearranging order out of what used to be daunting chaos.


    So I try to never miss the things you were not.

    I am trying to remember those intermittent lovely days that carried me to where I am standing right now.
     

    I am stronger than I thought.
    I am actually standing.

     
  3. when you are leaving the room.

    I am tired of holding
    These two metal weights in my hand.
    They wrench my shoulder down,
    Sinking me
    Crooked to the floor;
    Tying up the fingers I use
    To brush back those hairs that get stuck in your eyelashes.
     

    I wouldn’t mind you taking one of them from me.
    I thought about asking you the other day.
    But if you would rather not
    My bones will crack.
    I will drop them
    Both on the tile floor
    And think of them rarely.

     
  4. when you are loving miles away.


    These are the nights when I’m ready –
    Ready to put my things in canvas bags,
    Sling them across my back
    And begin walking east and south.
     

    I’m ready for Virginia grass.
    Tall, golden.
    That gentle view filled with bricks from old homes,
    The mud that’s seen the bottom of handmade shoes,
    And the bones of deer and men that are going through the cycle of history and dirt.
     

    I’m ready for salt.
    Humidity.
    Water and sunlight thrown across cattails and reeds.
    And long nights on eternal autumn porches.
    Symphonies of smoke, the words of great writers, and our own, new ideas.


    ——————————————————————-

    Currently Listening To: Sort of Revolution by Fink

     
  5. when we are living harmful lives.

    “…intimidating leaders are not often told about their blind spots. We often wonder how powerful leaders could make such stupid decisions, but the sad reality is there was nobody around them willing to point out their mistakes. They’d pushed away anybody willing to question them.”


    I came across this snippet this morning on Donald Miller’s blog (www.storylineblog.com). The original post is about leadership, which honestly doesn’t apply to me in this stage of my life at all. I’m really not in charge of anything. But regardless, parts of it hit home. 

    I’m a strong personality. Not in the sense that I’m particularly forward or dominating. So maybe “stubborn” personality is a better way to describe it: I know what I believe. I know what I think should be done. I act in specific ways because they seem best to me. I don’t really like being challenged in the ways I do things because, do you not know? I am super smart and have thought through this and it is indeed the best way to get said thing done.

    I can also be a little arrogant. More on that later.

    Probably the number one adjective used to describe me in high school was ‘intimidating’. That sure makes a girl feel good about her self, obviously. But it’s unfortunately true. The weird thing is, I honestly didn’t mind it that much. I figured out by the time I was a senior that being intimidating basically meant you could get away with treating people however you wanted, because no one had the guts to challenge you. But I was also a good, Christian girl who led worship and girls Bible studies and people came to me for advice about their personal lives and walks with Jesus. So I had to be sneaky. I became the ultimate master of passively treating people like dirt. Because if you don’t actually do anything, you can’t be accused of anything. And you can get away with everything. 

    Ladies and Gentlemen, that is a short road. It is a short road that comes to an abrupt stop at the edge of a cliff and you suddenly find yourself dangling, maybe holding on to a branch or two, really wishing there was someone around to grab you by the hand, the waist, the hair, anything, and pull you back on solid ground. But that’s the funny thing about being intimidating and stubborn and strong – no matter how strong you are, you can never pick yourself up. I mean, seriously. Go try it. Grab your hand and try to pick yourself up. It will never work. 

    So that’s where I found myself. Strong, independent, and crying on my couch at home because I hated college and never wanted to go back. What happened?

    Now, don’t get me wrong. I love that I’m stubborn. I love that I’m independent. But these beautiful character traits are so easily twisted. I found that there is a huge difference between being stubborn and independent, and living a stubborn and independent life.

    A stubborn and independent life leaves you alone. And, to quote the Bible, “it is not good for man to be alone.” Spiritually. Physically. Psychologically. We’re just not meant to be alone. And it wasn’t until I realized my incredible need for deep companionship, deep community, that my strong facade was simply a way of making sure I was never challenged, that I sought out other people. Instead of keeping to myself and trying to keep everyone at a comfortable arms-length through my impressive powers of intimidation, I began to try and get to know the people around me. I asked them questions. I actually answered their questions thoughtfully and honestly. I began to let them affect me. And I watched as all of my blind spots came into sharp, clear view.

    Which, by the way, smarts. A lot.

    But I’m grateful every day for the equally strong/stubborn personalities God has made inextricable parts of my life. I have a sister who, over the past few years, has also become one of my best friends. Who knows me so well she can call me out on my crap, sometimes even before I’m aware I have it. I have a (non-related) best friend who has stuck with me, through thick, thin, weird, complicated, and heartbreaking, since the sixth grade. She’s not intimidated by me at all, because she’s seen me at my worst, and knows what I can be at my best. Our friendship has changed so much since middle school, and now I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I have a roommate who refuses to let me clam up in myself when I’m angry or upset. Who has taken the time and effort to understand my personality, and is willing to point out when I’m acting out of my weaknesses instead of my strengths. She never lets me hide behind excuses, whether elaborately thought out or just completely lame. I am surrounded by wonderful, beautiful people who never accuse, but instead ask me ‘why’ questions, forcing me to explain myself out loud – an exercise I believe the majority of humanity should make a habit. I don’t know what my daily life is going to look like without them come graduation in May.

    It is because of these people that I am not an egotistical maniac. It is because of these people that I have been able to grow. That I have been able to better understand myself. It is these people, with our lives we have decided to live together instead of alone, that point out my blind spots, and call me out when I am doing something stupid. They question me. They love me

    And sometimes I hate it. I hate being told that I’m doing something wrong. I hate being told that there is one right way to do things, and that I’m not doing it. Part of this is simply personality. I’d rather find as many different ways to do things as possible than limit myself to just one solution. But probably nine times out of ten, I’m just being horribly prideful. And would rather find an “alternative creative solution” than admit that your solution might be better than mine.
     

    I guess what I’m trying to say (and have taken forever to say) is this:
     

    Surround yourself with people. Let yourself get into the lives of other people, and let them get into yours. How often do we disregard people based on their looks or the way they talk or where they’re from or (college example!) what they’re majoring in? Take time to listen. Take time to ask questions. Seek people who are also seeking love and friendship and community, and decide to live life together. Even when it’s hard. Even when the other person is annoying you. Make it a conscious decision. A commitment. A covenant, of sorts.
     

    If you’re bored and looking for a crazy spiritual or personal ride, ask yourself these kinds of questions. What personality traits of mine am I making into a lifestyle? Is this bad? Do I have someone in my life that points out my blind spots? Am I too prideful to let people affect me?
    And then act on the answers.

    These are the big questions in life that hurt. That are awkward. That take a lot of tears and gritted teeth and honesty and love to get through. Am I saying all of this because I have everything figured out? No. There are always more blind spots. Always more faults. Always more conflicts and people who you’ll treat wrongly and opportunities to love that you’ll miss. But, on the flip side, there are also always more people to love. More people to let in. More people that are different than you that will let you grow and flourish and expand yourself.
     

    People hurt. Individuals hurt. We hurt each other sometimes. But I cannot even begin to explain how you will see yourself change when you are willing to let yourself be affected by others. When you are willing to let them point out your blind spots and your weaknesses. When you let people love you enough to keep you from dangling over cliffs.

     
  6. when you have been waiting for some time.

    sometimes when you have too much to say, it’s easier to say nothing at all. just for a little while.

    Currently Listening To: For Emma, Forever Ago by Bon Iver

    ——————————————————————————————-
     

    Lord
    Do you waste things?
    Do you throw them away like old bouquets?

    Or do you return them to the earth -
    Creating burial mounds out of dirt
    With your bare hands,
    Cupping water over where they are waiting
    For patience to bring something new?

    Spill your water on me.
    I am thirsty –
    My tongue barely moves this morning.
    Spill your water on me so I can drink:
    Drink, be broken down,
    And, in a later season, feed something new.
    Something more brightly colored than I was before.

     
  7. Hey all!

    One of my poems, Starving for the Lovely, was posted to The Limn (www.thelimn.com), a space for college students to share through words, images, etc. Check it out, look at all the awesome stuff up there, and submit something of your own!

     
  8. when i wish i would have acted better.

    There are times when I fail you.

    A careless word.
    I was in a foul mood.
    Sometimes I forget to call. Or email.
    Or walk to your door and tell you with real words.

    I like to think that maybe you don’t remember the times when I fail.
    And maybe you don’t.
    Maybe you do not file them away in neat folders, arranged by date and topic, as I often do.
    My guess is that you cannot recall that one time where I lied through my teeth, walked by and did not say hello, or forgot to come and pass the time we had planned together.

    Maybe you cannot recall those specific times.
    But I am afraid that you remember them.

    That each one is woven into my face.
    My voice.
    My character.

    That they have quilted themselves into how you understand me.

    And that, I cannot take back, nor reverse.

    No matter how persistent I am that those patches are not me at all.

     
  9. when we are living candid lives.

    I like it when we talk.

    I mean, I like it when we bandy words around, and use them to fill in the spaces in our apartment. That’s just fine. It’s nice to know that there is someone else alive in the room.

    But what I’m really trying to say is I like it when our talking means something more. When we communicate ideas and personalities, and listen to how each other’s words drip with meaning and history. I like when our talks take us to the future and remind us that someday we will be mighty, though today we feel small. Someday, in ten or twenty years, we will have dragged ourselves through the hard parts, and will then be standing on top of a mountain cut with a steep path. And we will look back with the most savory triumph and a better view of the past, the present, and maybe even the future.

    I like those kinds of talks. The talks where the space inside my ribcage feels honest, and my ears are full of your old, old soul.

     
  10. when you have spent time alone.

    There is a small space
    [a vacancy, you could say]
    that I only feel on occasion.
    It creeps up, sometimes,
    when I read books
    [under a heap of flannel]
    or watch movies
    [with my feet tucked underneath me]
    or drink coffee by myself
    [next to a tall window]
     

    It is just the slightest sense
    that maybe I am
    [in some way]
    without a thing which I am owed.
    I did not know I needed it
    until just now
    and now i feel i am partial,
    segmented and incomplete, without.
     

    I only feel it
    [that small space]
    on occasion
    But when I do
    it expands
    until it has swallowed
    my stubborn resolve.