It’s been two months. I got here on September 29th and now it’s been two months that I’ve been in Europe, and a resident of Paris, France.
I’ve hesitated to write about it for a number of reasons. First, so much has happened that it’s overwhelming. I won’t feel like I’ve adequately covered it all, no matter how hard I try. Secondly and succinctly put, this whole thing has been really hard.
I have been overwhelmed at how much my family and friends have been excited for me and behind me in embarking on this experience, to the point where I’m very humbled. It feels as if everyone is so excited for me to be here, that for it to be difficult and for me to feel anything less than enraptured with my geographic circumstances feels ungrateful and downright spoiled of me. This is the furthest thing, obviously, that I want to be, but nonetheless, I’ve found myself in puddles of tears enough to feel that I must be at some degree honest about how hard this whole thing has been! The first few weeks of my time here, I had a lot of friends visiting, traveling with me, and it was wonderful. One of these said individuals challenged me to chronologue how my outlook on this whole 9 month excursion changes over the length of it. I’ve been reflecting much on that challenge--because I promised her I would do it--but have also struggled with how honest I want to be. So, here goes. This is for me, for sure, but also, this is for you Ash. Thank you for the challenge.
I have concluded that one could not find two more opposite places in quote “western society” that Alaska and Paris, France. On many levels. Alaska is vast, wild, sparsely populated and fairly newly touched--just to name a few of it’s characteristics. Paris is geographically miniscule in comparison (or shall we say contrast), highly “civilised”, immeasurably more populated and not at all without an nearly ancient and just as profound sense of heritage. Not that either extreme is at all in its entirety “bad”, but it is anyway worth noting these pronounced extremes in saying that it has been really hard to adjust from living in one extreme to the next. Also, I believe I mentioned in the last update that I found myself so busy this summer that I really didn’t have time to build up expectations or ideas about what France was going to be like. While I found this to be advantageous, I can also say that I was not prepared and had not previously considered this big differences and how they might affect me!
LANGUAGE:
The language has been hard. I’ve realized that while majoring in French--albeit 4 years ago--has been helpful, I have been much better prepared to discuss literature and philosophy in the language that I’m currently immersed in, rather than doing daily life. I could at one point in college communicate very effectively big, universal ideas and truths and discuss the societal ramifications of literature. But, as it’s now 4 years later and completely different subject matter, I’m struggling! In Ernest Hemingway’s The Moveable Feast (which I am currently reading)--a memoir of his time in Paris in the 20’s--he talks about “writing”, and he says that he “learned to not think about anything that I was writing from the time I stopped writing until I started again the next day....” And that way his “subconscious would be working on it and at the same time I would be listening to other people and noticing everything....learning.” As an amateur “writer” I can totally relate to this phenomenon. But I also find myself hoping that my French language skills will undergo the same kind of circumstance. Only time will tell....
HOME:
Another source of stress has been my living situation, though I think things are getting better. First let me explain a little about my roomates. I’m in an apartment in the 9th Arrondissement, just south of Montmartre and Sacré Cœur--which I can actually see from my bedroom balcony. My Metro stop is the Montmartre stop, which is beautiful but also subsequently always BUSY. I live with an older lady and another middle aged gentlemen. Madame Hélène Vautrin is, I believe, in her 70s, a retired secretary divorcee who raised two daughters on her own in Nice, southern France--while she her self comes from the east area of the country. Nicolas, 46, is a friend of the family and Mme Vautrin’s grandson’s godfather. He’s wonderful, and very patient with my French and very obliging to give advice and cultural insight. He’s also learning English, so I’m often amused when he suddenly emits English explicatives. :) The apartment itself feels like a museum, there are so many antiques, and the floor even squeaks as a good museum does.
As wonderful and (over)mothering as Mme Vautrin may be, she does not claim those she houses on her taxes. Therefore, she did not want to let me use her address for any of my purposes. This is a problem because:
In order to be paid I must have a bank account.
In order to open a bank account I must (French law?) have a “justificatif de domicile” (declaration from my landlord, saying that I live with them) signed AND an adjoined bill from the same address.
In order to get my visa validated AND be covered by French national health insurance (la Securité Sociale) I have to send in my address AND have yet another “justificatif de domicile”.
And lastly, in order to even eat and pay rent I have to be paid. The american dollar that I earned all summer only goes so far...
Eventually, after some tears (she caught me stressed out and in tears at one point) and telling her that I didn’t want her to get into trouble, but I need an address (??!!), she relented and signed the papers.
THEN, I went to open my bank account. Which was a challenge in and of itself given that I had to muddle through legalese in a foreign language. However, It went fairly smoothly until I didn’t get my papers and especially my PIN for my French debit card because my name wasn’t on the mailbox at the apartment. I went in to inquire about this and they told me they’d send the PIN again but there was a possibility of my account shutting down....
Long story short and a dreaded conversation with the “Madame”, my name is on the mailbox. For now. And I have a bank account and a fully functional debit card and now I can eat and pay the rent. And they even call me “Madame Emerson” when I go in the bank. :)
I’ve never before experienced uncertainty about a roof over my head. It’s an interesting sensation. There was a period of time where I wondered if I could stay, and if I would be able to find another place, even. It was incredibly stressful finding a room in the first place, and the idea of having to stay indefinitely in a hostel again and of calling random numbers over and over again to find a home was overwhelming. So, I’m glad the address thing is momentarily ironed out.
Nevertheless, I’m learning more about dear Mme Vautrin. She is highly fiscally conscious. I have made of few “faux pas” in the home regarding the matter. For instance, there is no light in my room. The light switch is broken and the electrician is supposed to come. Sometime. It’s been this way for about two weeks now and she was gone for a week. She’s back now and has made no effort to remedy situation, as far as I can tell. I made do with a clip on light bulb I found in the already cluttered-with-who-knows-what-and-where-it came-from bedroom that I inhabit and promptly got in trouble for using it because it was (drumroll please) 200 watts and too expensive. I also should not have, apparently, roasted a chicken in the oven . I’m not supposed to use the oven either: it’s too expensive.
Suffice it to say, all of this has had me fearing the woman a bit and afraid of doing something wrong! But, as Nicolas says--who was appalled at hearing my stories--one does what one wants when she’s gone. This last week he made a wonderful quiche in the oven and I enjoyed my well lit bedroom.
I think I’m making some breakthroughs with her, though. She came back from her trip to see her daughter with a ton of questions for me about my life and country, because she’d apparently been discussing her “americane” with her family. I also accompanied her to and from the train station with her suitcase, and while it seemed an obvious thing to me--not to mention a pleasure--it seems to have broken some kind of wall down with her. She’s beginning to ask favors of me and take interest in my life. :)
As I live in a big city now, I’m trying really hard to get used to all the noise. But it’s hard, because I hate it. I can nearly follow the neighbor’s conversations through the thin walls, there’s work going on in/on the buildings across the street and rennovation happening in the “square” down the street. There is also a lady that lives in the same building that bursts out in random and very bad operatic notes. I haven’t yet pinpointed the origin of these poorly skilled emissions, but I’m choosing to approach the phenomenon as “quirky” and “endearing” and “funny”, instead of annoying. Hopefully this lasts.
WORK:
My job has been a real highlight in many ways, though it also presents its own set of unsureties and ambiguities. The children are from ages 7-10 roughly and CUTE as all get out! I’ve never been such a celebrity before, whenever I walk through the school hallways they all shout “Bonjour, Traci!” and I hear them trying to speak English to each other. I love it. Also, the teachers have been very warm toward me, which, I hear is unusual. Many other assistants have horror stories about their teaching situation, but I have to say I’m happy with mine. :)
On a broader scale, however, I’m less and less impressed with the Education Nationale itself. In a word: UNORGANIZED. The teachers know it, too. They hate it, but nobody can change it, so it would seem. Much more on the Education Nationale later. Also, I already have stories about how French education itself is conducted on a day to day basis. Very different, but that’ll come later.... My job is very ambiguous and not very well lined out. They gave us some papers stating what each grade level should know at the end of the year and then a whole bunch of “games”. We have “trainings” too, in which we play these said games. Fantastic. Really, though the kids are adorable and the teachers are nice, I have NO IDEA what I'm doing.
HEALTH:
I have been sick for almost 5 days now. My system crashed and I’ve not been sleeping well either. Things are getting “better”, but I’m definitely looking forward to feeling 100% again. I’ve lost some weight due to walking a lot and healthier eating habits, but I know some of it’s stress too. I came to France in not a very good emotional state. And now that friends are gone and I've gotten a little bit more of a daily routine here, it's catching up to me and I need to deal with it. I’ve spent most of my hours at home these last few days and have found ample time to reflect on this. I’ve come to some good realizations. There will be some elaboration on this fact to come, but I feel as I should leave it at that for now.
ITALY:
I GOT TO GO TO ITALY!!! 3 weeks into “teaching”, the Education Nationale went on a two week vacation and I got to go back to Naples and see my “family” there. It had been 5 years since my stay there over the summer of 2005 and it was actually kind of emotional and certainly precious to be reunited with some really amazing people there. I told my girls there, and it’s so true, that even though it had been so long since I’d been back, I had never forgotten. Naples is a special place.
On that note, I did see other parts of Italy, and overall just fell in love all over again with the country and the language. I also got to re-experience all of this with some dear, awesome friends from Alaska, Rachel and Kristie. Even though I’ve been to Italy several times before and experienced much of it before, this trip and time with them will remain entirely unforgettable. It was rough when they left. :(
So, while there is still so much to say, I’ve already well exceeded 2000 words and should leave it at that for now.
I’m still missing Alaska, and very much looking forward to Christmas. It’s been a year since I’ve been home to Oregon and I’ll be hopping on a plane for Canby in a little less than 3 weeks. My sister’s getting married! And really, it's been too long since I've been home.
So, that's some of my last two months. Like I said, it's been hard more than it's been anything else, and that's just my honesty that I've finally decided to give. Some of it's my circumstances and some of it's just me. I'm here, alone, not knowing what I'm doing and trying to figure a lot of crap out. It's good though. As I mentioned before, I'm reading Hemingway at the moment. One of my favorite lines of his at the moment describes the trees of Paris during winter so aptly:
"The trees were sculpture without their leaves when you were reconciled to them..."
I love this because it reminds me of a poem I wrote, once, for somebody else and with them in mind. This quote though, and where I'm at in life has caused me to turn this mirror a bit more on myself. So here it is, and here's me looking forward to Spring--on a couple of different levels:
L'hiver d'un arbre
Once leaving her usual more drapèd state
A silent, barren, and shivering tree
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offers a raw and naked form of beauty.
The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanchèd form of weeping
Paints anew an obscure but divined design
Ne'er perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.
Humbled may she be, stripped to naught
Undergoing a brief annual time to remind
A catharsis solidifying what a year may've wraught
A flight back to loveliness found only inside.
But her foliage is come back, and so supplements
A diff'rent season's rendering of natural grace.
The joy of spring's budding is only ever lent
Warm vibrance by foil of a colder place.
So, the winters of life disparage not then
For out of it speaks untold colors within.
T. Emerson
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Studio Dialogue IV
“Wow. I’ve always wanted to be in this Gallery, Painter. But it’s weird, I always had the idea that either would have come here a long time ago, or that I’d have been finished by the time I came here...if I ever did. I guess I thought I’d be ready and at my best and that I would be shining my “brightest”, if you will. I came here kind of broken, honestly.”
The Master Painter didn’t even blink an eye as He listened to His (often) long-winded project keep going.
“But now, I almost feel like--and I say this with the utmost respect, Painter--that my being here is somewhat of an anachronism; it’s strange timing in my journey of colors. But then, I guess I just haven’t gotten used to Your perfect metronome yet, Master, because I know that it's timed perfectly....I just always seem to be offbeat.”
The Painter seemed to pause for a moment, when she mentioned the metronome, but then appeared to think better of interjecting anything. He seemed to know that she just needed to get things out a little more.
“You know, at first I was so baffled by the last place you put me--that last room in that cold, beautiful Studio. It was so difficult at first but then I grew to love it so much, Master, that by the end of my time there I seemed to have literally sunk into the walls and belong! I haven’t had that feeling in so long and....”
She broke off. Obviously in effort to not be overly emotional. Though, she wondered why she would even think about trying to hide anything from her Artist, He already knew everything she was experiencing. As much as the becoming of herself was her own and actively involved her participation, she was still ultimately authored by Him. She breathed deeply, though shakily, and continued.
“It hurt so bad when you took me off that wall. It felt like I must have lifted off some of the plaster with me, I was so attached,” she paused. “I feel so ungrateful for having a hard time being here, Master, because I know that You’ve been planning this part of my picture for so long and it’s such and incredible and famous place! Master, so many of the Greats have been on display here and have passed through on their own journeys....in that sense I feel honored....But, at the same time...it’s so...different than I thought it would be....so crowded and there’s so much noise. There so much going on around me....
Finally the patient Master Painter spoke up as she at long last trailed off.
“Darling, do you remember that conversation we once had about how your process is affected by the other paintings hung around you and vice versa?”
“Yeah, I do.” She said, a bit troubled.
“Well, I know that you are fully aware that I comprehend completely how much you became a part of the last Studio you were in. If you remember, we had a conversation once early in your story there in which I reassured you it would be so.”
She said not a word, but He knew she was following Him and listening intently, for her unique and precious colors flickered across her young canvas and even shivered a bit.
“It’s true that I’ve moved you around a lot. I think you get frustrated because you think others don’t ‘have’ to move around as much. But, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes, displacement isn’t what I have in store for some of my other Paintings, and sometimes my other Works are not as surrendered to my Artisanship, so they stay where they’re at--but each Canvas has a different and fundamentally unique process. And in the end, it’s never worth it to compare your canvas to the pieces of Art around you. Engaging in this will inevitably end in either envy, insecurity, or pride. None of which are my Best design for you.”
The shiver that had priorly coursed through her hues became a more pronounced tremble. He tone softened his as He went on, having noted her precious emotion.
“Anyway, you did sink into the world of that last Studio very finely, my dear. I know and remember how hard it was at first, but you leaned ever so appropriately into it and succeeded in obeying me--and then even enjoyed it! I’m so proud of you. Especially because you’re time there was intense.”
The small frame of the Canvas relaxed a little at this verbal admission. She too felt all too keenly that it had been intense, so very hard even, at times and she still had so many questions about the experience....
“But because of the intensity of your time there, I needed to remove you, too. You were put there to be every bit as influenced by those who surrounded you as you have been, and vice versa. Your process affected the process of the other Paintings in that Studio just as much as you were affected by theirs. Does that make sense, my dear?”
“Mmmhmmm.” She said, affirmatively. “It does. I wish that meant I liked it, though. I just want to go back, but I know it’s not Best. Yet, at least. And a part of me knows, too, that I need to heal....”
“I know, my love. It’s hard. ‘Home’, though, is in Me: in your process with Me, remember that. I promise that true Home is not found in any Studio...famous or not. And I love that you remain committed to my Best for you, and not just Good. For, I am Master of both. I can and do work all things together for Good--for those that love me--but my ultimate desire is for your Best.”
The poor little Canvas’ spirits lifted a little.
“Thank You, Painter. Sometimes I just need to be reminded that I didn’t miss Your process, that what I’m doing is really where I’m supposed to be.”
The Painter stepped back and gazed at his little piece of art, admiring her for a moment. She was still so much in flux and process, but already in her youth some things were becoming solidified. Important things. And a story of Best was beginning to be woven into her image. He smiled.
“Well, I know you know this already, but I’m happy to remind you anytime.”
She beamed, emanating the first hint of joy during this particular conversation.
“But also, don’t forget that it’s dialogue with Me that keeps you from veering from Best! I adore your candor and honesty even if you feel that your questions and emotions and thoughts are nothing if not repetitive! I deeply yearn to be Master of the deepest and most obscure of your layers! If we stay in constant communication, you won’t leave the journey I have for you.”
“Hm.” She almost unintelligibly uttered, before more clearly adding, “Sometimes I forget that you want me to talk to You so much. I get so worried about respecting Your work on my canvas and letting You work out Your Art in my journey, that I forget that it’s important to maintain transparency about how I feel about what’s going on and what you’re doing. I also forget that my transparency often quickens the process....Funny how that works.”
“Communication with Me is the first thing you should worry about, my love. And never wonder if it’s welcome or not. My ear is never not bent your way. I love you.”
“Ok. I’m so glad, Painter.”
He smiled, the way only He could.
“Um, Master....”
“Yes?” He said, chuckling, for this was always the part where her precociousness emerged.
“What are you doing in the processes of the paintings back in the other room? What are they going through and do they love You? What’s happening back there, it’s killing me!?”
His mirth faded a bit while He promptly answered her.
“I’m going to respond to those questions with one of my own.”
“Ok...”
“Do you still want Best?”
“Absolutely. And nothing short of it, Master.”
“Then you’ll need to worry about no one’s process and journey but your own for the moment. I know you love so many of the other canvases that you’ve grown to know, as I promised you that you would, but for now the only colors and image you can worry about is yours, my love, lest you be unduly affected by my travail in other canvas’ renderings. Living unto “Best” is rarely easy. But we’ve also often discussed how it is worth it. Just trust Me: I have a Plan. However, inherent in this Plan is that you may not know the ending now. For if you did, the process of deepening and making real your colors, shades, hues and images would be nullified. It is indeed your continued trust, and communication with Me that clarifies, purifies and completes your process of picture. Keep going. You’re going to make it.”
“Ooooookay.” She expired. “But will I ever get to go back to that room?”
“Best, dear. Best. Hang in there.” He winked. “I know you’re overwhelmed by this place I have you now. It’s intimidating and crowded and altogether different from what you’ve ever known till now, but embrace it. You embraced the last place I put you and you were blessed. Don’t miss out on that same phenomenon this time around. You can do it.”
“I’ll do my best, Painter.” She laughed. “There’s that word again. For being so beautiful, it sure is a hard one.” She contemplated as she uttered once more under her breath, “Best....”
“Well, rest assured, I’m not going anywhere. You know, if anything, that I am who I am no matter where you are. And no matter where I take you. Don't forget.” He said, gently, as he just as gently continued to paint away.
She fell silent again. But probably not for long.
The Master Painter didn’t even blink an eye as He listened to His (often) long-winded project keep going.
“But now, I almost feel like--and I say this with the utmost respect, Painter--that my being here is somewhat of an anachronism; it’s strange timing in my journey of colors. But then, I guess I just haven’t gotten used to Your perfect metronome yet, Master, because I know that it's timed perfectly....I just always seem to be offbeat.”
The Painter seemed to pause for a moment, when she mentioned the metronome, but then appeared to think better of interjecting anything. He seemed to know that she just needed to get things out a little more.
“You know, at first I was so baffled by the last place you put me--that last room in that cold, beautiful Studio. It was so difficult at first but then I grew to love it so much, Master, that by the end of my time there I seemed to have literally sunk into the walls and belong! I haven’t had that feeling in so long and....”
She broke off. Obviously in effort to not be overly emotional. Though, she wondered why she would even think about trying to hide anything from her Artist, He already knew everything she was experiencing. As much as the becoming of herself was her own and actively involved her participation, she was still ultimately authored by Him. She breathed deeply, though shakily, and continued.
“It hurt so bad when you took me off that wall. It felt like I must have lifted off some of the plaster with me, I was so attached,” she paused. “I feel so ungrateful for having a hard time being here, Master, because I know that You’ve been planning this part of my picture for so long and it’s such and incredible and famous place! Master, so many of the Greats have been on display here and have passed through on their own journeys....in that sense I feel honored....But, at the same time...it’s so...different than I thought it would be....so crowded and there’s so much noise. There so much going on around me....
Finally the patient Master Painter spoke up as she at long last trailed off.
“Darling, do you remember that conversation we once had about how your process is affected by the other paintings hung around you and vice versa?”
“Yeah, I do.” She said, a bit troubled.
“Well, I know that you are fully aware that I comprehend completely how much you became a part of the last Studio you were in. If you remember, we had a conversation once early in your story there in which I reassured you it would be so.”
She said not a word, but He knew she was following Him and listening intently, for her unique and precious colors flickered across her young canvas and even shivered a bit.
“It’s true that I’ve moved you around a lot. I think you get frustrated because you think others don’t ‘have’ to move around as much. But, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes, displacement isn’t what I have in store for some of my other Paintings, and sometimes my other Works are not as surrendered to my Artisanship, so they stay where they’re at--but each Canvas has a different and fundamentally unique process. And in the end, it’s never worth it to compare your canvas to the pieces of Art around you. Engaging in this will inevitably end in either envy, insecurity, or pride. None of which are my Best design for you.”
The shiver that had priorly coursed through her hues became a more pronounced tremble. He tone softened his as He went on, having noted her precious emotion.
“Anyway, you did sink into the world of that last Studio very finely, my dear. I know and remember how hard it was at first, but you leaned ever so appropriately into it and succeeded in obeying me--and then even enjoyed it! I’m so proud of you. Especially because you’re time there was intense.”
The small frame of the Canvas relaxed a little at this verbal admission. She too felt all too keenly that it had been intense, so very hard even, at times and she still had so many questions about the experience....
“But because of the intensity of your time there, I needed to remove you, too. You were put there to be every bit as influenced by those who surrounded you as you have been, and vice versa. Your process affected the process of the other Paintings in that Studio just as much as you were affected by theirs. Does that make sense, my dear?”
“Mmmhmmm.” She said, affirmatively. “It does. I wish that meant I liked it, though. I just want to go back, but I know it’s not Best. Yet, at least. And a part of me knows, too, that I need to heal....”
“I know, my love. It’s hard. ‘Home’, though, is in Me: in your process with Me, remember that. I promise that true Home is not found in any Studio...famous or not. And I love that you remain committed to my Best for you, and not just Good. For, I am Master of both. I can and do work all things together for Good--for those that love me--but my ultimate desire is for your Best.”
The poor little Canvas’ spirits lifted a little.
“Thank You, Painter. Sometimes I just need to be reminded that I didn’t miss Your process, that what I’m doing is really where I’m supposed to be.”
The Painter stepped back and gazed at his little piece of art, admiring her for a moment. She was still so much in flux and process, but already in her youth some things were becoming solidified. Important things. And a story of Best was beginning to be woven into her image. He smiled.
“Well, I know you know this already, but I’m happy to remind you anytime.”
She beamed, emanating the first hint of joy during this particular conversation.
“But also, don’t forget that it’s dialogue with Me that keeps you from veering from Best! I adore your candor and honesty even if you feel that your questions and emotions and thoughts are nothing if not repetitive! I deeply yearn to be Master of the deepest and most obscure of your layers! If we stay in constant communication, you won’t leave the journey I have for you.”
“Hm.” She almost unintelligibly uttered, before more clearly adding, “Sometimes I forget that you want me to talk to You so much. I get so worried about respecting Your work on my canvas and letting You work out Your Art in my journey, that I forget that it’s important to maintain transparency about how I feel about what’s going on and what you’re doing. I also forget that my transparency often quickens the process....Funny how that works.”
“Communication with Me is the first thing you should worry about, my love. And never wonder if it’s welcome or not. My ear is never not bent your way. I love you.”
“Ok. I’m so glad, Painter.”
He smiled, the way only He could.
“Um, Master....”
“Yes?” He said, chuckling, for this was always the part where her precociousness emerged.
“What are you doing in the processes of the paintings back in the other room? What are they going through and do they love You? What’s happening back there, it’s killing me!?”
His mirth faded a bit while He promptly answered her.
“I’m going to respond to those questions with one of my own.”
“Ok...”
“Do you still want Best?”
“Absolutely. And nothing short of it, Master.”
“Then you’ll need to worry about no one’s process and journey but your own for the moment. I know you love so many of the other canvases that you’ve grown to know, as I promised you that you would, but for now the only colors and image you can worry about is yours, my love, lest you be unduly affected by my travail in other canvas’ renderings. Living unto “Best” is rarely easy. But we’ve also often discussed how it is worth it. Just trust Me: I have a Plan. However, inherent in this Plan is that you may not know the ending now. For if you did, the process of deepening and making real your colors, shades, hues and images would be nullified. It is indeed your continued trust, and communication with Me that clarifies, purifies and completes your process of picture. Keep going. You’re going to make it.”
“Ooooookay.” She expired. “But will I ever get to go back to that room?”
“Best, dear. Best. Hang in there.” He winked. “I know you’re overwhelmed by this place I have you now. It’s intimidating and crowded and altogether different from what you’ve ever known till now, but embrace it. You embraced the last place I put you and you were blessed. Don’t miss out on that same phenomenon this time around. You can do it.”
“I’ll do my best, Painter.” She laughed. “There’s that word again. For being so beautiful, it sure is a hard one.” She contemplated as she uttered once more under her breath, “Best....”
“Well, rest assured, I’m not going anywhere. You know, if anything, that I am who I am no matter where you are. And no matter where I take you. Don't forget.” He said, gently, as he just as gently continued to paint away.
She fell silent again. But probably not for long.
This Morning
It’s 7 in the morning in Oregon, and 6AM in Alaska right now. Just about every time I look at the clock I calculate just this, and I wonder what people in my life are doing right then, so far away. Right now, probably most of them are sleeping. Right now, I live for when everyone starts to get up and post new thoughts and news bits online so I can “keep in touch”....I’ve still not sunk into what I’m doing here.
It struck me this morning, for it is no longer morning here, why I’m having such a hard time adjusting. At least, part of it.
Till now, perhaps I’ve been making up external reasons for my difficulties, but this morning I realized that part of it is because things didn’t go my way this year. And I’m still bucking against that. God, forgive me. Part of it maybe the place. But more of it is me.
I knew that I didn’t “know” what this year held for me and what God was going to do with me this year, and I certainly love to pay lip service to this fact, but I think that in my heart--which still struggles ever so much to be connected to my head--I had an “idea” where I was going and then God “surprised” me.
I’m behaving like a child, I think. I love the idea that God knows what He’s doing and that He wants to surprise me with things far beyond my wildest dreams, but when it comes to actually living this out and getting on a plane when I don’t want to and getting up in the morning to face a lot of people I don’t know and doing a job that I’m not very good at yet, it’s way harder than it would seem.
It’s the Butterfly Principle, once again. Simply put, the principle that ideas and convictions and beliefs can only truly become authentic in the lifestyle sense through experience. Ideas, convictions and beliefs start out as seed in the mind, if you will--“caterpillars”--but only become the “butterflies” in one’s life that they were meant to be through the process of metamorphosis that only experience affords.
It’s this very metamorphosis I think I’m undergoing at the moment. I know that God wants better for me than I even want for myself, but until I experience what it’s like over and over enough to the point where I can actually trust this idea with my heart and not just my head--even when boarding that dreaded airplane and facing those unknown others and frustratingly new and ambiguous job--this caterpillar of an idea will never fully fly.
I have to say that I find both the “caterpillar” and the “butterfly” stage of things the most pleasant. The Caterpillar is the naive idealist and the Butterfly is so sage, able to bask in the exhilaration of a process completed, knowing how much better and more beautiful life is after the cocoon. However, it’s that cocoon stage that I find so hard. I’m wrapped up, not able to move until I learn and until is properly time.
But, it’s no way to live to only remain in naive, intellectual idealism and forego the necessary mental and spiritual adolescent difficulty to arrive at where we’re meant to be. And I’ve been thinking, the world is never changed by those who choose only that which is easy. And though I cannot change the world in it’s entirety, I can at least change mine. And I will choose the hard thing, when it’s right. God forbid I take the easy road, just for the sake of ease.
And after all, I’m in Paris. It could be worse, right?
It struck me this morning, for it is no longer morning here, why I’m having such a hard time adjusting. At least, part of it.
Till now, perhaps I’ve been making up external reasons for my difficulties, but this morning I realized that part of it is because things didn’t go my way this year. And I’m still bucking against that. God, forgive me. Part of it maybe the place. But more of it is me.
I knew that I didn’t “know” what this year held for me and what God was going to do with me this year, and I certainly love to pay lip service to this fact, but I think that in my heart--which still struggles ever so much to be connected to my head--I had an “idea” where I was going and then God “surprised” me.
I’m behaving like a child, I think. I love the idea that God knows what He’s doing and that He wants to surprise me with things far beyond my wildest dreams, but when it comes to actually living this out and getting on a plane when I don’t want to and getting up in the morning to face a lot of people I don’t know and doing a job that I’m not very good at yet, it’s way harder than it would seem.
It’s the Butterfly Principle, once again. Simply put, the principle that ideas and convictions and beliefs can only truly become authentic in the lifestyle sense through experience. Ideas, convictions and beliefs start out as seed in the mind, if you will--“caterpillars”--but only become the “butterflies” in one’s life that they were meant to be through the process of metamorphosis that only experience affords.
It’s this very metamorphosis I think I’m undergoing at the moment. I know that God wants better for me than I even want for myself, but until I experience what it’s like over and over enough to the point where I can actually trust this idea with my heart and not just my head--even when boarding that dreaded airplane and facing those unknown others and frustratingly new and ambiguous job--this caterpillar of an idea will never fully fly.
I have to say that I find both the “caterpillar” and the “butterfly” stage of things the most pleasant. The Caterpillar is the naive idealist and the Butterfly is so sage, able to bask in the exhilaration of a process completed, knowing how much better and more beautiful life is after the cocoon. However, it’s that cocoon stage that I find so hard. I’m wrapped up, not able to move until I learn and until is properly time.
But, it’s no way to live to only remain in naive, intellectual idealism and forego the necessary mental and spiritual adolescent difficulty to arrive at where we’re meant to be. And I’ve been thinking, the world is never changed by those who choose only that which is easy. And though I cannot change the world in it’s entirety, I can at least change mine. And I will choose the hard thing, when it’s right. God forbid I take the easy road, just for the sake of ease.
And after all, I’m in Paris. It could be worse, right?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Praise You in this Storm
This was written August 30, this summer, all over and on the back of a piece of paper at work...I knew I'd come back to it, I guess:
8.30.10
I know how it's gonna feel, kind of. Pretty soon I'm going to be standing on the streets of Paris staring at the l'Arc de Triomphe and wondering at how far away all of these happenings are so far away from me geographically, yes, but mentally and emotionally too. But, this will all still nonetheless have become a part of who I am and how I will be because I went through it. And go through it is exactly what I want to do. To skirt around it or avoid I want very much to do on the one hand, but on the other, but on the other my prayer is that I be given the strength to LEAN into it. Not just "go through it" but do it and do it WELL. God help me.
A lot of this is true, what I wrote that day. On October 30th I'm sitting here staring from a balcony out on a Tuscan valley. I'm relaxed a bit, because Italy has been a bit healing for me this last week or so, and has "filled me up" in some respects, which is a small gift from God--I'm so grateful. But, I also am surprised to some degree had how far some of this year's events actually don't seem at the moment. I'm still processing and surrendering and wondering at the direction(s) my life takes...it's beautiful though. It's beautiful the manner in which our experiences become us in the sense that they make us "become" and they shape and mold. God, thank You for process and thank You for said experiences. May I never live merely on the surface, but always lean. Into whatever You have for me.
-T. Emerson
8.30.10
I know how it's gonna feel, kind of. Pretty soon I'm going to be standing on the streets of Paris staring at the l'Arc de Triomphe and wondering at how far away all of these happenings are so far away from me geographically, yes, but mentally and emotionally too. But, this will all still nonetheless have become a part of who I am and how I will be because I went through it. And go through it is exactly what I want to do. To skirt around it or avoid I want very much to do on the one hand, but on the other, but on the other my prayer is that I be given the strength to LEAN into it. Not just "go through it" but do it and do it WELL. God help me.
A lot of this is true, what I wrote that day. On October 30th I'm sitting here staring from a balcony out on a Tuscan valley. I'm relaxed a bit, because Italy has been a bit healing for me this last week or so, and has "filled me up" in some respects, which is a small gift from God--I'm so grateful. But, I also am surprised to some degree had how far some of this year's events actually don't seem at the moment. I'm still processing and surrendering and wondering at the direction(s) my life takes...it's beautiful though. It's beautiful the manner in which our experiences become us in the sense that they make us "become" and they shape and mold. God, thank You for process and thank You for said experiences. May I never live merely on the surface, but always lean. Into whatever You have for me.
-T. Emerson
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Lean
I know how it’s going to feel. Kind of. Pretty soon I’m going to be standing on the streets of Paris, staring at l’Arc de Triomphe and wondering at how far away all of these happenings are, this and all of what has gone on....so far away from me geographically, yes, but also mentally and emotionally. Hopefully even spiritually.
But it’s one thing to know that soon I will be having such thoughts, and still trying to maintain just such a perspective when I’m still in the trenches, so to speak.
Nonetheless, all of this summer will have become a part of who I am and am becoming for having gone through it. And go through is precisely what I want to do. None of this would I truly want to circumvent by avoidance--even if I may have moments when I feel otherwise. Go through it indeed, and in so doing, ever leaning into it: I don’t want to just do this thing. I want to do it well. God help me.
For better or worse, our experiences are one of the few things that can never be taken from us. They become us as we become them, until the point when we don’t know where the line is between them. May I never live my experiences on a purely surface level--even those over which I possess no control. May I forever lean and move forward.
But it’s one thing to know that soon I will be having such thoughts, and still trying to maintain just such a perspective when I’m still in the trenches, so to speak.
Nonetheless, all of this summer will have become a part of who I am and am becoming for having gone through it. And go through is precisely what I want to do. None of this would I truly want to circumvent by avoidance--even if I may have moments when I feel otherwise. Go through it indeed, and in so doing, ever leaning into it: I don’t want to just do this thing. I want to do it well. God help me.
For better or worse, our experiences are one of the few things that can never be taken from us. They become us as we become them, until the point when we don’t know where the line is between them. May I never live my experiences on a purely surface level--even those over which I possess no control. May I forever lean and move forward.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Byproduct
I can see how in the past, I manipulated. I manipulated some situations and relationships and circumstances, and then reaped the consequences of such manipulation. Last time, I could kind of blame myself for how things ended up and even for getting hurt. I moved on fore sure; emotionally, spiritually and certainly geographically.
This time, I didn’t manipulate any of it. I’ve waited. On Him. And it’s kept getting uglier and uglier and closer and closer. I didn’t orchestrate any facet of this whole thing--I wish I knew what was right, what to do and/or say and how to handle the whole or even a part of this thing. God, why do I end up in things like this?
Karissa once told me that “drama” can sometimes be a byproduct of actively and deeply loving others. If that is so, then let it be. I would never want to sacrifice transparency and growth and promoting both those things and more in others for the sake of living a more comfortable and more drama free existence. God forbid.
This said, God I just pray you’d give me the wisdom and strength to navigate these things with love and grace--and Truth. Never may I pursue comfort or easier to the detriment of Truth: Your heart. There’s a lot of ugly right now. Show up. Please....
Love, Your Painting.
This time, I didn’t manipulate any of it. I’ve waited. On Him. And it’s kept getting uglier and uglier and closer and closer. I didn’t orchestrate any facet of this whole thing--I wish I knew what was right, what to do and/or say and how to handle the whole or even a part of this thing. God, why do I end up in things like this?
Karissa once told me that “drama” can sometimes be a byproduct of actively and deeply loving others. If that is so, then let it be. I would never want to sacrifice transparency and growth and promoting both those things and more in others for the sake of living a more comfortable and more drama free existence. God forbid.
This said, God I just pray you’d give me the wisdom and strength to navigate these things with love and grace--and Truth. Never may I pursue comfort or easier to the detriment of Truth: Your heart. There’s a lot of ugly right now. Show up. Please....
Love, Your Painting.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Year Old Wisdom
I ran a across a journal entry from just about a year ago that kind of hit home anew. Here it is, with only slight modifications:
4.8.09
...I think that true humility has compassion on pride seen in others. If one reacts to pride in others in any other fashion--it's probably his own pride resonating with another's in an uncomfortable and (hopefully) convicting way. God, let me get to the compassion stage.
God, my pride looks on that of others and...hates it. I react to it instead of respond. I wish I didn't. God, take this ugliness far way from me and eradicate even its traces...
4.12.10
Echo, echo. Certainly.
4.8.09
...I think that true humility has compassion on pride seen in others. If one reacts to pride in others in any other fashion--it's probably his own pride resonating with another's in an uncomfortable and (hopefully) convicting way. God, let me get to the compassion stage.
God, my pride looks on that of others and...hates it. I react to it instead of respond. I wish I didn't. God, take this ugliness far way from me and eradicate even its traces...
4.12.10
Echo, echo. Certainly.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Carry Us Over....
Jesus turn this wine back into water
So it can quench our poor and thirsty souls
The desert is dry as hell and getting hotter
The truth is only your love makes us whole
So carry us over the finish line
we can see the end but our feet are so tired
It's obvious we're useless on our own
So carry us over the finish line
we can see the end but our feet are so tired
Don't know how to be sober
Jesus carry us over
We wanna go home........
-Kelli Shaefer
So it can quench our poor and thirsty souls
The desert is dry as hell and getting hotter
The truth is only your love makes us whole
So carry us over the finish line
we can see the end but our feet are so tired
It's obvious we're useless on our own
So carry us over the finish line
we can see the end but our feet are so tired
Don't know how to be sober
Jesus carry us over
We wanna go home........
-Kelli Shaefer
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Irresistable Revolution
"We can be moral but not alive; a lot of conservatives and liberals have taught me that....There are many people who are morally 'pure' but devoid of any life, joy, or celebration. For some, this 'purity' means that we do not touch anything that is 'secular', and for others, it means that we don't eat anything that is not 'organic'. But if it is not born of relationships, if it is not liberating for the oppressed and the oppressors, if it is not marked by raw, passionate love, then it is the same old self-righteousness that does little more than flaunt our own purity by making the rest of the world see how dirty they are....No one is beyond redemption."
-Shane Claiborne
-Shane Claiborne
Friday, February 5, 2010
Studio Dialogue III
“This room is kinda chilly, Master, and I don’t really recognize any of the other paintings hanging in here.” The little painting didn’t often hesitate to speak her thoughts, and this time was no exception.
“Well, naturally you don’t recognize or even understand many of these paintings around you, because I just moved you to this room. But you’re beginning to get to know them, aren’t you? You’ll understand them better in time as they will understand you, but don’t forget that part of the reason I put you in this very room is for precisely such a thing. I’ve told you before that there are always so many more facets to what I’m doing than you could ever grasp, but I will tell you that part of things for the moment.” The Master Painter patiently blinked, working away and softly breathing through a nearly imperceptible smile.
“So, do you think You could also tell me why You moved me to this room? I mean, I knew I was supposed to change Gallery chambers at some point, but I thought that I was going to that other room and then I ended up here...And I’m not saying that I’m not happy where I am, because I really am--but I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense to me. I really haven’t figured this all out yet. And this climate does something strange to my colors too, Master.” Surprisingly, she uttered all of this with a mystified but contented demeanor. Honestly she felt more bewildered with many of her circumstances than she did displeased.
“Well, one small part of the color thing you mention also has to do with the temperature of the room that you mentioned. The cooler temperature helps preserve: it’s good for you. You’ll acclimate--don’t let it bother you. As for this alteration of chambers, this is one of those things that You won’t understand until later. Plainly put, honey, it’s not for you to know. Yet. There will come a day when you’ll understand better.”
“Okay, Master. If there’s one thing I’ve been learning it’s that it’s one thing to ‘know’ that You know Best--like we talked about before--but it’s another thing for me just wait and ‘let’ you work out all of these things into this picture you’re making of me. I can’t see it the way You do, but sometimes, Master, I feel like it would be easier on both of us if I could!”
The Painter nodded in acknowledgement as He listened to her heartfelt burst of emotion. She often regretted articulating herself immediately after doing so, but when she was communicating with the Painter she took more and more refuge in the fact that he never discouraged her bluntness. She knew that her honesty gave a certain quality to the colors that He gave her, because He was good enough to remind her so. But she was frustrated with how these said colors were “changing” at the moment.
“And Master, what’s going on with my colors right now?! I’ve never experienced these techniques and I’m so not used to it that it doesn’t even feel like painting. It’s been a while since I’ve even seen a familiar brush, but I still see you working away so diligently.”
“Do you remember how I told you about layering and the like?”
“Yes...”
“Well, there is some of that going on, and you’re quick to perceive new techniques and changes in your colors. Once again, there’s more to it than any sole dimension, but I don’t think you ever fully perceived how the colors in and of the paintings in your previous room reflected off and changed your own to varying degrees. And you did the same for them. This was certainly no negative thing in most ways. However, it came to the point that I had prepared for you. You were ready to leave.”
He paused, knowing she would need a moment to adequately process His words, then resumed,
“As you grow into the room you’re now in, the colors and images around you will grow into your picture and you will change. Can I just say that as Master Painter, being the Artist of all of this said process is one of my favorite things about what I do?”
He smiled faintly, closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep contented breath. Opening them, He began to exude a happy glow and she saw for a fleeting instant a brief flicker of an extraordinary color spectrum dance quickly across his visage. Simultaneously in awe and overwhelmed, she wondered at it but didn’t ask.
“I know you’re at once enamored and frustrated with all of these colors I choose for you, my love. But lest you forget how precious they are, let me remind you of the uniqueness every hue you possess. You have strokes and hints of colors becoming images which are becoming the larger picture of you designed to fit into not only the immediate environment around You but ultimately my entire Collection. And these tones that you have are perfectly exclusive to you, just as the telling and becoming of your Canvas.”
“I always need to be reminded of everything,” she murmured. “It seems like as soon as You get done telling me something I’ve already forgotten the first sentence....”
The Master Painter chuckled and shook his head as she trailed off.
“Oh sweetheart, that’s what I’m here for. And also, I wanted to tell you that one thing I’m working into your Canvas right now is that I’m maturing some of these unique hues and tones I was talking about. There will come a point in your process where you will better understand how the pigments I’ve chosen for you can be used unto their full potential. I’m beginning that journey in you right now. This is part of why the techniques you’re experiencing right now feel like such new territory. You’re ready for it, and I’m so proud of you for that. There’s so much about you that is still so raw and emergent. This in itself is beautiful in its transient nature. However, the moment your impatience impedes my ability to mature and grow the Art of your Canvas, you cease to let Me be the one to paint you and you let other processes in your story.”
“Never do I want that!” She virtually shouted. “I mean, we’ve talked about this before and I will hang on for Best, Master. I know it will be worth it. I know. I guess it’s just another one of those things that’s easier to ‘know’ than to ‘let’.”
“The more difficult something is for you to ‘let’, my dear--and not just ‘know’--the more beautiful it looks on your Canvas when followed through unto completion. And the more honored am I in being Your Artist.”
“Wow. Another one of those things I forget.”
She was reeling with all of the information and reminders packed into the much needed conversation, but still had one thing left on her mind.
“Master, am I going to stay in this room for a while?”
The Painter did not immediately verbally respond. However when He did, He had become as equally reproachful as forbearant.
“My dear Canvas--for that is what you are, please listen to these words of mine. One of the most incalculably strategic and thematic elements in all of the Art of my entire Collection is a sense of timing. As the Canvas that you are you will never fully fathom my ways, but you must always hold that I have no plans but to prosper you. This, my love, is not the time for you to know this thing you ask me. I will unveil to you such a thing, when it is time. Understood, my dear?”
“Yes, Painter. Yes.”
She watched Him vigorously mix some dyes and pigments on His palette while it took her a moment to muster the courage to supplicate conclusively:
“But Master, please...please help me let this one happen in every way and not just know it! Please, please help.”
“I promise you that, child. I promise.”
“Well, naturally you don’t recognize or even understand many of these paintings around you, because I just moved you to this room. But you’re beginning to get to know them, aren’t you? You’ll understand them better in time as they will understand you, but don’t forget that part of the reason I put you in this very room is for precisely such a thing. I’ve told you before that there are always so many more facets to what I’m doing than you could ever grasp, but I will tell you that part of things for the moment.” The Master Painter patiently blinked, working away and softly breathing through a nearly imperceptible smile.
“So, do you think You could also tell me why You moved me to this room? I mean, I knew I was supposed to change Gallery chambers at some point, but I thought that I was going to that other room and then I ended up here...And I’m not saying that I’m not happy where I am, because I really am--but I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense to me. I really haven’t figured this all out yet. And this climate does something strange to my colors too, Master.” Surprisingly, she uttered all of this with a mystified but contented demeanor. Honestly she felt more bewildered with many of her circumstances than she did displeased.
“Well, one small part of the color thing you mention also has to do with the temperature of the room that you mentioned. The cooler temperature helps preserve: it’s good for you. You’ll acclimate--don’t let it bother you. As for this alteration of chambers, this is one of those things that You won’t understand until later. Plainly put, honey, it’s not for you to know. Yet. There will come a day when you’ll understand better.”
“Okay, Master. If there’s one thing I’ve been learning it’s that it’s one thing to ‘know’ that You know Best--like we talked about before--but it’s another thing for me just wait and ‘let’ you work out all of these things into this picture you’re making of me. I can’t see it the way You do, but sometimes, Master, I feel like it would be easier on both of us if I could!”
The Painter nodded in acknowledgement as He listened to her heartfelt burst of emotion. She often regretted articulating herself immediately after doing so, but when she was communicating with the Painter she took more and more refuge in the fact that he never discouraged her bluntness. She knew that her honesty gave a certain quality to the colors that He gave her, because He was good enough to remind her so. But she was frustrated with how these said colors were “changing” at the moment.
“And Master, what’s going on with my colors right now?! I’ve never experienced these techniques and I’m so not used to it that it doesn’t even feel like painting. It’s been a while since I’ve even seen a familiar brush, but I still see you working away so diligently.”
“Do you remember how I told you about layering and the like?”
“Yes...”
“Well, there is some of that going on, and you’re quick to perceive new techniques and changes in your colors. Once again, there’s more to it than any sole dimension, but I don’t think you ever fully perceived how the colors in and of the paintings in your previous room reflected off and changed your own to varying degrees. And you did the same for them. This was certainly no negative thing in most ways. However, it came to the point that I had prepared for you. You were ready to leave.”
He paused, knowing she would need a moment to adequately process His words, then resumed,
“As you grow into the room you’re now in, the colors and images around you will grow into your picture and you will change. Can I just say that as Master Painter, being the Artist of all of this said process is one of my favorite things about what I do?”
He smiled faintly, closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep contented breath. Opening them, He began to exude a happy glow and she saw for a fleeting instant a brief flicker of an extraordinary color spectrum dance quickly across his visage. Simultaneously in awe and overwhelmed, she wondered at it but didn’t ask.
“I know you’re at once enamored and frustrated with all of these colors I choose for you, my love. But lest you forget how precious they are, let me remind you of the uniqueness every hue you possess. You have strokes and hints of colors becoming images which are becoming the larger picture of you designed to fit into not only the immediate environment around You but ultimately my entire Collection. And these tones that you have are perfectly exclusive to you, just as the telling and becoming of your Canvas.”
“I always need to be reminded of everything,” she murmured. “It seems like as soon as You get done telling me something I’ve already forgotten the first sentence....”
The Master Painter chuckled and shook his head as she trailed off.
“Oh sweetheart, that’s what I’m here for. And also, I wanted to tell you that one thing I’m working into your Canvas right now is that I’m maturing some of these unique hues and tones I was talking about. There will come a point in your process where you will better understand how the pigments I’ve chosen for you can be used unto their full potential. I’m beginning that journey in you right now. This is part of why the techniques you’re experiencing right now feel like such new territory. You’re ready for it, and I’m so proud of you for that. There’s so much about you that is still so raw and emergent. This in itself is beautiful in its transient nature. However, the moment your impatience impedes my ability to mature and grow the Art of your Canvas, you cease to let Me be the one to paint you and you let other processes in your story.”
“Never do I want that!” She virtually shouted. “I mean, we’ve talked about this before and I will hang on for Best, Master. I know it will be worth it. I know. I guess it’s just another one of those things that’s easier to ‘know’ than to ‘let’.”
“The more difficult something is for you to ‘let’, my dear--and not just ‘know’--the more beautiful it looks on your Canvas when followed through unto completion. And the more honored am I in being Your Artist.”
“Wow. Another one of those things I forget.”
She was reeling with all of the information and reminders packed into the much needed conversation, but still had one thing left on her mind.
“Master, am I going to stay in this room for a while?”
The Painter did not immediately verbally respond. However when He did, He had become as equally reproachful as forbearant.
“My dear Canvas--for that is what you are, please listen to these words of mine. One of the most incalculably strategic and thematic elements in all of the Art of my entire Collection is a sense of timing. As the Canvas that you are you will never fully fathom my ways, but you must always hold that I have no plans but to prosper you. This, my love, is not the time for you to know this thing you ask me. I will unveil to you such a thing, when it is time. Understood, my dear?”
“Yes, Painter. Yes.”
She watched Him vigorously mix some dyes and pigments on His palette while it took her a moment to muster the courage to supplicate conclusively:
“But Master, please...please help me let this one happen in every way and not just know it! Please, please help.”
“I promise you that, child. I promise.”
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Love of God
The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell.
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell.
The guilty pair bowed down with care.
God gave His son to win
Hiss erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin.
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure.
How measureless and strong
It shall forever more endure
The saints and angel's song...
Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the sky of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure.
How measureless and strong
It shall forever more endure
The saints and angel's song...
-Frederick M. Lehman
Than tongue or pen can ever tell.
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell.
The guilty pair bowed down with care.
God gave His son to win
Hiss erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin.
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure.
How measureless and strong
It shall forever more endure
The saints and angel's song...
Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the sky of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure.
How measureless and strong
It shall forever more endure
The saints and angel's song...
-Frederick M. Lehman
Monday, January 4, 2010
A Decade in Journal Form
It has been, shall I say, quite a 10 years since I began seriously journaling. And since, for some sub to whatever type of conscious degree, the number 2010 is inspiring in me more than just the ordinary year-end reflection and review, I’ve determined to read through the past 10 years in my journals; as painful as it may be to literarily review my immaturity of the last decade.
I’ve only yet scratched the surface of this said undertaking, and though I haven’t reread much of a percentage at the moment, one thing has already struck me. There are some certain questions and issues and/or struggles that keep coming back into my life perennially. And by “perennial” I do mean, every year. It would seem that in some things, I never learn my lesson. Though, I’m not sure I’m supposed to look at it that way.
It’s a blessing and a struggle to hash through these again in my journaling, but I do have to say that although the principle of any of these mentioned (and purposefully vague) “issues” remains resolutely the same each time, there always seems to be a new twist on any and all of these perennial “weeds” in my life--equally and simultaneously stalwart and itinerant. It’s always the same “lesson”, but always different too, and often in a different area of my life.
This being said, it’s also surprise to me that the similar “epiphanies” on things keep coming to me as well; each a little different--if not slightly ameliorated--each time.
All of this comes to mind in considering where I was personally last year at this time. I wrote a little about my journey last year, and thanked some who had also been victims or beneficiaries of my little process in life. Mostly patient and forbearing victims. I also wrote about something that I’d learned about “knowledge”. I’ll try and summarize it:
Ultimately, I think that a healthy “knowledge” of something often blossoms into compassion, but there’s a process to getting there. It’s kind of like a butterfly.
There's a difference, I think, between knowing an idea in your head and "knowing" and understanding something in your heart in such a manner that it works itself out kinesthetically into your life and actions. Most of the time, this gap between knowledge and understanding is most effectively and genuinely bridged by experience with/in the matter. The best words that we have for this transformation of knowledge is perhaps "understanding". And then action upon this turns eventually into "compassion".
Metaphorically put, this whole principle is kind of like a caterpillar. It starts out as knowledge of a fact, a bug; it turns into an understanding of the idea via experience with it, a chrysalis; and it can then metamorph into something amazing and uniquely beautiful if nurtured and encouraged, eventually compassion when this new mature knowledge is able to be externalized. Compassion comes out into your life looking like myriad virtues, foremost probably being kindness. This is the ultimate goal.
Basically, we all can "know" or even believe something, but it doesn't mean that every one of our living moments and actions look like it. It's a experiential process to synergize these two "categories of knowledge" together--and it takes a lifetime.
This realization/could-be-better-articulated theory comes back to me again this year when, once again I’m aware of some things that I would love--this year and decade--to undergo metamorphosis. I’m excited to have re-realized all of this and even to recognize a rhythm of growth in my life. Even if something feels the same as before, I can see that if it’s growth, it’s always forward moving. And that’s encouraging.
I guess I’m going to have to get used to the phenomenon of resurrecting past epiphanies on a regular basis, the same way I’m going to have to get used to learning the same lessons in my life over and over--each time with a new facet or “shade” to it. And as boring as that sounds when put into words, it’s definitely nothing sisyphean. There’s not anything monotonous about it, and I’m profoundly grateful for that. I’m hoping to begin to settle into this newly identified rhythm and appreciate the personal growing “seasons” found therein.
That said, here goes 2010 and the next decade of journaling. Cheers!
I’ve only yet scratched the surface of this said undertaking, and though I haven’t reread much of a percentage at the moment, one thing has already struck me. There are some certain questions and issues and/or struggles that keep coming back into my life perennially. And by “perennial” I do mean, every year. It would seem that in some things, I never learn my lesson. Though, I’m not sure I’m supposed to look at it that way.
It’s a blessing and a struggle to hash through these again in my journaling, but I do have to say that although the principle of any of these mentioned (and purposefully vague) “issues” remains resolutely the same each time, there always seems to be a new twist on any and all of these perennial “weeds” in my life--equally and simultaneously stalwart and itinerant. It’s always the same “lesson”, but always different too, and often in a different area of my life.
This being said, it’s also surprise to me that the similar “epiphanies” on things keep coming to me as well; each a little different--if not slightly ameliorated--each time.
All of this comes to mind in considering where I was personally last year at this time. I wrote a little about my journey last year, and thanked some who had also been victims or beneficiaries of my little process in life. Mostly patient and forbearing victims. I also wrote about something that I’d learned about “knowledge”. I’ll try and summarize it:
Ultimately, I think that a healthy “knowledge” of something often blossoms into compassion, but there’s a process to getting there. It’s kind of like a butterfly.
There's a difference, I think, between knowing an idea in your head and "knowing" and understanding something in your heart in such a manner that it works itself out kinesthetically into your life and actions. Most of the time, this gap between knowledge and understanding is most effectively and genuinely bridged by experience with/in the matter. The best words that we have for this transformation of knowledge is perhaps "understanding". And then action upon this turns eventually into "compassion".
Metaphorically put, this whole principle is kind of like a caterpillar. It starts out as knowledge of a fact, a bug; it turns into an understanding of the idea via experience with it, a chrysalis; and it can then metamorph into something amazing and uniquely beautiful if nurtured and encouraged, eventually compassion when this new mature knowledge is able to be externalized. Compassion comes out into your life looking like myriad virtues, foremost probably being kindness. This is the ultimate goal.
Basically, we all can "know" or even believe something, but it doesn't mean that every one of our living moments and actions look like it. It's a experiential process to synergize these two "categories of knowledge" together--and it takes a lifetime.
This realization/could-be-better-articulated theory comes back to me again this year when, once again I’m aware of some things that I would love--this year and decade--to undergo metamorphosis. I’m excited to have re-realized all of this and even to recognize a rhythm of growth in my life. Even if something feels the same as before, I can see that if it’s growth, it’s always forward moving. And that’s encouraging.
I guess I’m going to have to get used to the phenomenon of resurrecting past epiphanies on a regular basis, the same way I’m going to have to get used to learning the same lessons in my life over and over--each time with a new facet or “shade” to it. And as boring as that sounds when put into words, it’s definitely nothing sisyphean. There’s not anything monotonous about it, and I’m profoundly grateful for that. I’m hoping to begin to settle into this newly identified rhythm and appreciate the personal growing “seasons” found therein.
That said, here goes 2010 and the next decade of journaling. Cheers!
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