enfant de la moyen âge

I took a long journey to get here. Kind of like acclimatizing to get to the top of Everest.
Base Camp: London, England. Oh, how I love that town. It's in constant motion, yet is constantly still, like a little star that manages to shimmer in the same place while zipping by at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour. "Mind the gap," but "keep calm and carry on." Though the sky is covered in clouds, all the Londoners sit in the sun.
A bit higher up the mountain: Brussels, Belgium. A bit protective; it's in motion behind closed doors, like a clock pendulum behind glass. But find the sweet spot, and you'll hear the most joyous singing and boisterous laughter, even at the most absurd things. It's no wonder the national symbol is a statue of a little boy peeing. It's overflowing with the old, traditional things, so it strives to be brand-new, but so far, the old is what's staying, with both beautiful results and difficult ones.

Which brings me to my new home for the next couple of months: Paris, France.

A city throbbing to the beat of the new and now, it's a perfect picture of the 21st century. But the monuments of the past still loom large, bringing color to every part of the city. It's a hundred-year-old teenager, with a half-forgotten scapular around its neck and an iPhone pressed to its ear. When I'm here, I'm a time-traveler from the Middle Ages: culturally inept and awkward, half-speaking the same language, full of an instinct to explore, quite young yet positively ancient.

"AND... loving it." =)

cold fog

hello universe!

"If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been." (Sam, The Lord of the Rings)

Arrived safe and sound in London Town. Utterly astonished (or should I say gobsmacked?) by the sheer... London-ness of it all. I realized rather quickly that I didn't really know London; I only knew about her... largely through whatever I could gather from Doctor Who. She's much more different than I expected, like a cold splash of water in the face, and yet, simultaneously, much more similar than I expected. I suppose that's the way all cities are, when comparing them to home.

Based on first impressions, she appears to be in constant flux, both physically and metaphysically... yet shadows of the past still cling on to the future, like the moss clinging to the brick-mortar flats that line the streets. Somehow, though, also like the moss, these shadows make the place even more beautiful. It isn't beautiful in a manicured Orange County sense... it is beautiful in the way a very old classic book is when you discover it hiding beneath a veil of dust. It invites.

May it invite more of us to discover its secrets. I'll let you know what more I learn.

your trusted aethernaut,
maggie

launch

hello universe!

a new adventure beckons...
watch this space for updates as i venture out of my comfort zone (and my country) to seek beauty in Europe for a time.

somehow, I know that when I return I will be a different person, hopefully a better person, than I was before. more than anything, though, I pray that this journey will be a time of getting to know God better and deeper. how beautifully He's been working to send me to a place I only dreamed I'd go!

"What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be?"
"It will be."
"And what if it is? What do I do then?"
"Well, that's the good part, I guess. You get to go find a new dream."
(Tangled)


keep me in your prayers, and may the lessons I learn and share here be a blessing to you all.

until the communication satellites align again,
maggie

ladybug summer

if you didn't know this before, i love my hometown.

we're a small place, quiet and slow. the speed limit is just whatever it takes to recognize your neighbor and wave hello.

main street businesses open around 11am and close around 8, unless it's "shop-at-home" day. then it's 10.

on snowy winter days, all the neighbors band together to defeat the shadowy "snowplow-man" and his irksome "berms."

on memorial day weekend, at least half the townsfolk purge their closets and deposit their contents onto the street edges while the other half, along with the visitors from "down below," wanders the town for good deals and warm handshakes.

...and a magical thing happens when summer decides to arrive.

according to local legend, many years ago aphids plagued the greenery. it's difficult to grow things as it is in the dry mountain soil we've got, so this became quite the problem. no one thought of funky chemicals; no one would have agreed to it. instead, several large airplanes flew over the town, dropping thousands of tiny gifts from the sky: ladybugs. the beetle artillery gobbled up the aphids, and the town's greenery lived happily ever after. now, to this day, when the temperature begins to climb back into the seventies after long bouts of snowy frost, hundreds of these warriors' ancestors reawaken from winter slumber and fill the air, alighting on the sunbeams like fairies.

and guess what? today is that day. oh, joy of summer!

enjoy the hand-spun fairy sunshine today!

until you orbit by again,
maggie

(this space intentionally left blank)

an open letter to the enigmatic writer's bane known simply as the "blank page,"

apologies for dispensing with the normal pleasantries, but i do not want to waste time with you any longer. i have spent too much time skirting you, avoiding you, and hiding from you to allow myself to beat around the bush again.
at first, i believed that you really wanted me to succeed, but couldn't come to my aid due to "busyness" or various extraneous circumstances. i would sit with you, hoping to work harmoniously with you to create story, but your imposing figure and stoic stare usually scared me away. i would tell myself: "he can't be prevailed upon to help; he's much too busy" or "he'll be there when I get back; no need to start now" or, as things worsened, "I must not be important enough for him; he's got his hands full with the likes of Stephanie Meyer."
oh, how i deceived myself in the service of my own fear! and what are you, anyway? you do not speak, you do not actively make moves to destroy me, but i've seen through your ruse. that little smirk that spreads over your face when i walk away and you think i'm not looking; oh, yes, i've seen it.
surely you know of the story that has haunted me since childhood. a story that has never been written, only skirted; the story that i must write. for as long as i can remember, i've sought it; i've enjoyed other stories just because they catch a bit of this other.
but YOU have kept it from me. i've realized that you have a vested interest in keeping me from completing it. you've sent me off into dead ends, deploying every weapon at your disposal: "brain fog," deep distraction, gnawing self-doubt, jittery guilt, even the great and terrible Writer's Block isn't below serving your ends.
what have i ever done to you, blank page? ah, but as i ask that question, i answer myself: if my story is ever completed, it will surely destroy you. are you as afraid of me as i am of you? but, fear not, blank page, for as you are destroyed, something better will be born in your place. the power of a single story dwarfs you, and perhaps you know it.
i realize that you will not willingly engage with me in a peace treaty as long as the "story" haunts me. very well; then, as long as the "story" haunts me, i will not rest until i complete it and destroy you. don't act surprised; you knew i couldn't accept your vision of the world, blank page. for you would have us all cowering before you, imprisoned in ourselves, unable to look up and see the beautiful bigness of our created universe. but story, true story, always drives us to look up.
blank page, consider this the end of our toxic relationship... and the beginning of a better quest.

i sign this most sincerely and definitively,
maggie

diversion to gallifrey

hello universe!
since i've recently discovered that many of my friends love the tv show "doctor who" as much as i do, i thought i'd share with you a bit of "timelord poetry" that i wrote a while back... besides, it is a good reason to post again. =)
this is supposed to be from the perspective of the 9th doctor. i wrote it right when i first discovered that i liked the show (a little less than a year ago). hopefully, it will still make some sense even if you haven't seen "doctor who." enjoy.

doctor's internal physics

eternal present.
earth moves, falls through space
cling tightly to my fingertips
and we'll break
free.
the smallest things will be the largest
and the last shall be first.
windows shatter.
lying beneath the surface, I am there
I wait for you because I love you
and we can save each other.
your world can be one disaster less
and my world can have substance.
new life.
in purpose, I can face existence
protect your world, for you have more than I
and you have more
time.
I look at the sky and see a painful struggle
waiting to be remedied
but you can enjoy its beauty
in spite of it.

you are still a child in this universe, so true
but I have learned so much from you.


until our paths cross again,
maggie

poetry muscle

hello universe!

went to the riverside art museum yesterday and it got me thinking about poetry again. more specifically, i realized that every human being has a "poetry muscle," if you will, that is exercised in any number of ways. the "poetry muscle" is the part of you that yearns to express the deeper beauties of life that can't be expressed through straight normal explanations. for people like me who are more literarily inclined, we might choose to write poetry or stories. others choose to draw, paint, or sculpt, like the artists showcased in the art museum. still others, that i call the "naturalist" types, choose to study the scientific details of things in search of this unexplainable beauty. some choose to plan events, start projects, or plant gardens. all can be called creative, and all seek (sometimes subconsciously) the deeper beauties of the universe in some way.

i think that the exercise of this "poetry muscle" is the thing that sets us apart from the animals.

how do you express your "poetry muscle," or have you noticed it?

until the starstreams spiral my aether-ship back to you,

maggie langdon