Sunday, March 10, 2013
Fast-Forward
It's been much too long, hasn't it?
Fast-forward to today. I feel as though I've woken up from a very long dream, or am I now dreaming?
Being back home is sort of disorienting, especially because everything is different. New classes. New circles of friends. New church situation. Concerns about jobs. About the future. About not knowing.
I suppose this is what's called Faith Part Three. Things don't end just because I'm not traveling anymore. Or am I just now beginning the journey?
~M~
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Faith Leaps
I learned from one of the sisters at the Mother House in Calcutta that Pope Benedict has declared this the "Year of Faith," believing that the Church as a whole is facing a particular cultural crisis that will especially require the gift of faith.
Calcutta, India. Land of horn honks and lingering curry smells. Three powerful religions--Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism--cohabitate uncomfortably, each trying to call out above the din in their own way. In Islam's case, this was literal: an imam chanted Qur'anic verses over a loudspeaker 5 times a day. There is no rest on the streets of Calcutta. Salespeople call for a perusal of their wares, interpreting "no, thanks" as an invitation to follow and talk more. Beggars call for the gift of a rupee or two, so certain in their profession that no other way seems sane for them.
Entering Mother House means entering a sanctuary of silence, the only place in Calcutta where no one is clamoring for your attention. I had looked forward to a full week of working in this place, of restfully seeking to show love to the sick and dying.
The first day worked out pretty much as I had expected: I felt very nervous walking into Prem Dan, unsure if I could face the new challenges, but God was there and provided me that restful peace I'd sought as I wrung out plaid laundry and carried trays of steaming curry.
The next day, however, I discovered that the week would not progress as I'd expected it to. A burning pain in my throat and a heavy cloud in my sinuses signaled the beginning of a completely different week. One after another, team member after team member fell prey to the ravages of a mystery bacteria, "coming out at both ends," in the words of some. Somebody joked that the Hotel Maria had become a new Missionaries of Charity House. I don't think they were too far from the truth, as whoever was able did everything they could to serve their fellow sick: doing laundry, making Gatorade/rehydration salt runs, sharing cold meds, sharing company in the tiny cafe two steps away.
I learned that week that faith requires a complete surrender of your circumstances to God. During that time, He held me close, like an infant, telling me bedtime stories. He emphasized over and over how prayer is as much of a good work as serving the sick. I learned that I didn't have to expect anything of myself, that He would work what He would if I only follow and let Him.
So, when the last day rolled around and I could finally return to Prem Dan, I knew a new kind of peace. It didn't seem like the supernatural peace of the first day, in which the Holy Spirit had invaded to provide strength for that one day. This peace felt native to my being.
I will never forget how one woman stared at me; I wasn't sure why she looked at me with an expression of such wonder, until she grabbed my hand and motioned, "God bless you."
I realized that the Holy Spirit had begun to work in a new way, a way that would bring me closer to spiritual maturity.
Which brings us to Ethiopia. Faith Part Two.
One ten-hour bus ride involving thirty-seven people attempting to sleep on top of each other equals one very exhausted crew. When all of us crabby Americans pulled in at one am, however, a small army of Ethiopian medical students were waiting there to greet us, cheerily grabbing 40-pound bags from the weary girls (despite many futile protests) and trucking them up to our rooms. This moment described very well the energy we discovered in the Ethiopian church, and the fervor with which they sought to do what God desired.
We joined forces with them to head off into the countryside with the Gospel. Nobody really knew what to expect, but our new friends continued to remind us, "We just preach the Gospel. God does the rest."
My favorite story from these days is this one, which describes very well how this kind of faith worked out practically:
We approached a small knot of people, and our new friends asked them in Amharic whether or not they'd be willing to hear about how God had worked in our lives. Initially, they said no, we don't need a new religion. But then my partner, Nick, pulled out his family photo album and began to show the children his pictures. I followed his lead, and soon the whole group had gathered around the both of us. Using the opportunity, Nick pulled out our Gospel-sharing tool, the Evangecube, to show pictures of the Gospel. Our friends translated as he told the story. They listened with interest for a while, then one said, "We've heard the name of Jesus. But we don't know Him personally in any way." This opened the way for me to build on Nick's foundation, using Hebrews 10:19-22 as my text. That Scripture God graciously provided that morning; I hadn't prepared to use it at all, yet every time it seemed applicable.
I learned in Ethiopia that the kind of faith I'd seen in Calcutta, that abandonment of circumstances to God's control, spurred action. God offers Himself for the present trials, not the ones we fear for the future.
And now, being back in the Western world, here in Europe, I feel like I can do anything. I don't feel afraid for what kinds of things will happen now that we're beginning our time of teaching in Hungary. The beauty, the sheer beauty of the place, fills my heart to the brim and reminds me of the things I learned last time I was in Europe and points me to my future.
I hope that God will continue to mature me as I enter the next section of the curriculum: Faith Part Three? We'll see what He'll do. In the meantime... keep praying. <3
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Liminality
Happy two month anniversary!
Between the first and second halves of this around-the-world season, I found myself sitting in a little beach café listening to slow bluegrass and sipping a tall cold yogurty lassi.
Koh Tao ("Turtle Island") is surrounded by the bluest of oceans and the sweetest of breezes. The cove is so shallow that you can easily walk from one end to the other, even if far from shore. All the signs are in English, though all the shopkeepers speak Thai. The streets are lined with motorbike rental places, massage parlors, and bars. There are more Western faces on this island than we've seen all month.
It's a far cry from Chiang Mai, our home last week. We drove everywhere, since everything seemed far away from our little huts. We made do with cold showers and innumerable bugs of various (large) sizes, but daily enjoyed the most amazing Thai food cooked especially for us.
It seems that Thailand is the land of butterflies and 7-11s, the place where all of our romantic notions and all of our practical actions are beginning to meld for the first time.
We had trouble with this last week. Faced with looming midterms and essays, we struggled to find the rhythm between homework, classes, leading English camp, building a concrete wall (with no experience and two shovels), connecting with the other members of the team, connecting with the local people who supported and guided us, and avoiding getting bit by giant mosquitoes and ants (largely unsuccessfully). Somehow, all of us made it through, managing to work some good by the grace of God.
Then, midterm break happened. Suddenly, nothing was the same. Somehow, all the work we did last week clicked into place in the team itself. With no schedule, the family we'd been trying to form since the beginning finally clicked together in a new way, ready to face the next half of the adventure.
I'm not fully sure what to expect from this second half. I know only that it will involve a massive surge in maturity, a lot of intense trials, a lot of intense joys, and the ever-increasing presence of God.
As I finish off the last sip of my lassi, I realize that I am stable in the midst of this uncertainty. Liminality has given me the chance to discuss with God what we've learned so far and what to look for in the future. And with the voice of the Holy Spirit to guide me, I need fear no darkness.
I will continue on to Bangkok tomorrow, content in the knowledge that we are protected, and we are ready.
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Saturday, September 15, 2012
In the Year of the Dragon
It rained the first day we were here, coming on right in the middle of our work clearing dirt and preparing concrete. No one stopped, though. (Everyone was wet from sweating anyway!)I felt like an image from some propaganda poster with my cone hat and hoe, diligently hacking at the earth. A crowd gathered, staring at us strange mud-streaked foreigners in bemused wonder.
"There are only three reasons anyone can think of that you're here doing this right now," we were told. "One, you're all CIA spies. Two, you're crazy. Three, you're religious."
We made friends with many of the children in that place. We had "student flower wars" in which we'd throw tiny prickly plants at each other; at the end of each day, we'd always have at least two or three still stuck on our shirts. One made it her mission to guide me everywhere, letting go of my hand only when she wanted to ride on my shoulders. Speaking no English, she still managed to be an excellent tour guide, pointing out things that interested her. "Meow," she'd say, and point at the cat skulking in the corner. She'd gesture for my camera, and take pictures of her friends, allowing me to see through her eyes for a time.
I sat on the low porch with her, struggling to weave a basket out of bamboo strands.
"For many of these children, it is their first time interacting with foreigners."
Once we got to Hanoi, everything was different. We were invited to explore the city with some of the university students, and of course I went. My newfound Vietnamese friends and I ended up at the Hoa Lo Prison ("Hanoi Hilton") museum, in which I was particularly surprised to discover a souvenir shop that sold knockoff Tintin merchandise.
How things have changed!
One 3+ hour bus ride later, we ended up in a new place, to help teach English at a brand-new international school. International Culture Night turned out to be a bigger affair than we expected, involving dancing, singing, beatboxing, Vietnamese rapping, and all kinds of exciting madness. We tried traditional "bamboo dancing," which involves artfully dodging rhythmically moving bamboo sticks. A group of us got up there and rocked Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours," to great fanfare. I am wearing a ring that a new friend insisted on giving me; though our conversation could only consist of a few phrases and a bit of Google Translate, we still became friends.
"Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing, we're just one big family...!"
Now, I'm back in Hanoi, enjoying the use of a real keyboard instead of my touchscreen. It's strange returning to a "familiar" place... and even stranger to call this street "familiar!"
Ha Long Bay is next on the agenda, a place that is said to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Four days on the ocean in a junk sounds like paradise to me; I'll try to encapsulate it for you as best I can when I return.
I admit, I love hearing tales of adventures from foreign lands. Currently, this means AMERICA! ;D So, tales of adventure from home are always welcome in the comment thread. ^^
As always, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
"There are only three reasons anyone can think of that you're here doing this right now," we were told. "One, you're all CIA spies. Two, you're crazy. Three, you're religious."
We made friends with many of the children in that place. We had "student flower wars" in which we'd throw tiny prickly plants at each other; at the end of each day, we'd always have at least two or three still stuck on our shirts. One made it her mission to guide me everywhere, letting go of my hand only when she wanted to ride on my shoulders. Speaking no English, she still managed to be an excellent tour guide, pointing out things that interested her. "Meow," she'd say, and point at the cat skulking in the corner. She'd gesture for my camera, and take pictures of her friends, allowing me to see through her eyes for a time.
I sat on the low porch with her, struggling to weave a basket out of bamboo strands.
"For many of these children, it is their first time interacting with foreigners."
Once we got to Hanoi, everything was different. We were invited to explore the city with some of the university students, and of course I went. My newfound Vietnamese friends and I ended up at the Hoa Lo Prison ("Hanoi Hilton") museum, in which I was particularly surprised to discover a souvenir shop that sold knockoff Tintin merchandise.
How things have changed!
One 3+ hour bus ride later, we ended up in a new place, to help teach English at a brand-new international school. International Culture Night turned out to be a bigger affair than we expected, involving dancing, singing, beatboxing, Vietnamese rapping, and all kinds of exciting madness. We tried traditional "bamboo dancing," which involves artfully dodging rhythmically moving bamboo sticks. A group of us got up there and rocked Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours," to great fanfare. I am wearing a ring that a new friend insisted on giving me; though our conversation could only consist of a few phrases and a bit of Google Translate, we still became friends.
"Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing, we're just one big family...!"
Now, I'm back in Hanoi, enjoying the use of a real keyboard instead of my touchscreen. It's strange returning to a "familiar" place... and even stranger to call this street "familiar!"
Ha Long Bay is next on the agenda, a place that is said to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Four days on the ocean in a junk sounds like paradise to me; I'll try to encapsulate it for you as best I can when I return.
I admit, I love hearing tales of adventures from foreign lands. Currently, this means AMERICA! ;D So, tales of adventure from home are always welcome in the comment thread. ^^
As always, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Land of Expectations
I have officially experienced Mongolia.
Gallopped across the steppes, wind blowing through my hair.
I will miss the lovely people I met there, but I will remember it forever.
Ulaanbaatar is a clash of worlds, a discombobulated kaleidoscope of country gers overshadowed by crumbling concrete buildings. Driving can often feel like being on the Indiana Jones ride!
It is a world away from the Mongolian countryside: stark green as far as the eye can see, peppered by braying cows, sheep, and horses. I helped our new friend, the young shepherd Tsitsah, herd his sheep down the hills. As we traveled, slowly making our way home to the round tent-like ger, he would throw his red Frisbee high into the air, and we'd run forward to catch it.
Now, I am in Vietnam, and it is like nowhere I've ever been before.
The city of Hanoi is a whirl of colors and smells, with wires strung every which way and vendors carting baskets full of exotic fruits and tasty delights. One of these looks and tastes something like a donut hole, but is squishy and largely hollow, as it is made from rice flour. Motorbikes dominate the streets, but flow magically around you the moment you walk into the street.
Further away from the city, tall skinny buildings teeter next to short grass huts. Bikes cart everything from children to pigs to long sticks of bamboo. Everybody really DOES have a water buffalo. Children stopped in the street to stare at us weird foreigners, then ran forward, excited to play with us. We threw "student flowers" at each other: small, sticky plants that are perfect toys. One small child led me around by the hand, only deciding to let go when I lifted her onto my back.
I'm in a dream. A mesmerizing journey. I am looking forward to sharing stories and continuing the journey when I return home.
Until next time, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Gallopped across the steppes, wind blowing through my hair.
I will miss the lovely people I met there, but I will remember it forever.
Ulaanbaatar is a clash of worlds, a discombobulated kaleidoscope of country gers overshadowed by crumbling concrete buildings. Driving can often feel like being on the Indiana Jones ride!
It is a world away from the Mongolian countryside: stark green as far as the eye can see, peppered by braying cows, sheep, and horses. I helped our new friend, the young shepherd Tsitsah, herd his sheep down the hills. As we traveled, slowly making our way home to the round tent-like ger, he would throw his red Frisbee high into the air, and we'd run forward to catch it.
Now, I am in Vietnam, and it is like nowhere I've ever been before.
The city of Hanoi is a whirl of colors and smells, with wires strung every which way and vendors carting baskets full of exotic fruits and tasty delights. One of these looks and tastes something like a donut hole, but is squishy and largely hollow, as it is made from rice flour. Motorbikes dominate the streets, but flow magically around you the moment you walk into the street.
Further away from the city, tall skinny buildings teeter next to short grass huts. Bikes cart everything from children to pigs to long sticks of bamboo. Everybody really DOES have a water buffalo. Children stopped in the street to stare at us weird foreigners, then ran forward, excited to play with us. We threw "student flowers" at each other: small, sticky plants that are perfect toys. One small child led me around by the hand, only deciding to let go when I lifted her onto my back.
I'm in a dream. A mesmerizing journey. I am looking forward to sharing stories and continuing the journey when I return home.
Until next time, your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Crossing the Dateline
We set off covered in prayers, humbled by the immensity of this thing we were doing.
Feelings of inadequacy and fear pricked around my consciousness, threatening to undermine the courage given me through your prayers.
But the Holy Spirit was, and is, there, allowing me to recognize those thoughts for what they really are: lies.
I'm learning that I don't have to have it all together to do what God wants me to. He'll do it, whether I'm ready or not.
Ollie Ollie oxen-free! Come find me!
Day 1: 12 hour flight to Beijing. All-night layover. This meant only one thing: EXPLORING! And sleeping... eventually.
We took the subway in to Tianamen Square. Bright lights lit up that giant portrait of Mao Tse-Tung, street vendors flew giant strings of hundreds of tiny kites into the air, stoic guards stood by straighter and stiller than I ever thought humanly possible, and I realized: Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Even more adventurous: we swept in to a little café for dinner. Of course, the entire menu is in Chinese... so we all attempt to order by pointing at the pictures, guessing what might be in them. We ended up ordering a dish that included one of the coolest and strangest foods I've ever tried: wachao, or ash pepper. The Chinese had to invent a special word just to describe the kind of taste sensation you experience when you eat one of these. At first, you think it might be spicy, but your mouth actually goes cold and sort of numb, then, your mouth begins to vibrate. Not tingle, vibrate. So strange, but so yummy.
And this was only the layover to where we were actually headed: Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.
Flying over Mongolia is probably one of the most beautiful sights you can see out of an airplane window. The hills are so incredibly green, and scattered throughout are little houses with brightly colored roofs. The city itself is peppered with mud puddles from the wet climate, and the brightly colored roofs intermingle with multiple construction projects and insane traffic jams... By insane, I don't mean massive... I mean that driving here is an insane affair. The only rule is that there are no rules. People create their own lanes out of the non existent shoulder or from the middle of the road... People sneak around the other cars with only inches to spare, signaling their presence by honking, not blinkers... And the potholes are so massive that driving down the highway feels like being on Indiana Jones at Disneyland.
Again, Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Today, though, provided me with a very different challenge: teaching English as a foreign language for the first time. No instructions, just two partners, a classroom, and a vague idea that we were supposed to assess conversation skills. Allrighty then.
This, by the grace of God, turned out to be anything but a disaster. We asked various questions, asking for participation, getting more and more confident as time went on. We learned more about how Mongolians and others who live here live their lives, and what their dreams are.
I have great hope for the rest of the week.
After teaching in the morning, we have classes in the afternoon. We're getting background on the history, language, and folklore of Mongolia. Cyrillic makes my head hurt! But I'm still a fan of these classes (Mongols! Yay! :) )
Thank you all for your prayers and love. I miss you all, and wish you could all be here with me!
I'll keep telling you stories when I can, kay? :)
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Feelings of inadequacy and fear pricked around my consciousness, threatening to undermine the courage given me through your prayers.
But the Holy Spirit was, and is, there, allowing me to recognize those thoughts for what they really are: lies.
I'm learning that I don't have to have it all together to do what God wants me to. He'll do it, whether I'm ready or not.
Ollie Ollie oxen-free! Come find me!
Day 1: 12 hour flight to Beijing. All-night layover. This meant only one thing: EXPLORING! And sleeping... eventually.
We took the subway in to Tianamen Square. Bright lights lit up that giant portrait of Mao Tse-Tung, street vendors flew giant strings of hundreds of tiny kites into the air, stoic guards stood by straighter and stiller than I ever thought humanly possible, and I realized: Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Even more adventurous: we swept in to a little café for dinner. Of course, the entire menu is in Chinese... so we all attempt to order by pointing at the pictures, guessing what might be in them. We ended up ordering a dish that included one of the coolest and strangest foods I've ever tried: wachao, or ash pepper. The Chinese had to invent a special word just to describe the kind of taste sensation you experience when you eat one of these. At first, you think it might be spicy, but your mouth actually goes cold and sort of numb, then, your mouth begins to vibrate. Not tingle, vibrate. So strange, but so yummy.
And this was only the layover to where we were actually headed: Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.
Flying over Mongolia is probably one of the most beautiful sights you can see out of an airplane window. The hills are so incredibly green, and scattered throughout are little houses with brightly colored roofs. The city itself is peppered with mud puddles from the wet climate, and the brightly colored roofs intermingle with multiple construction projects and insane traffic jams... By insane, I don't mean massive... I mean that driving here is an insane affair. The only rule is that there are no rules. People create their own lanes out of the non existent shoulder or from the middle of the road... People sneak around the other cars with only inches to spare, signaling their presence by honking, not blinkers... And the potholes are so massive that driving down the highway feels like being on Indiana Jones at Disneyland.
Again, Toto, we ain't in America anymore.
Today, though, provided me with a very different challenge: teaching English as a foreign language for the first time. No instructions, just two partners, a classroom, and a vague idea that we were supposed to assess conversation skills. Allrighty then.
This, by the grace of God, turned out to be anything but a disaster. We asked various questions, asking for participation, getting more and more confident as time went on. We learned more about how Mongolians and others who live here live their lives, and what their dreams are.
I have great hope for the rest of the week.
After teaching in the morning, we have classes in the afternoon. We're getting background on the history, language, and folklore of Mongolia. Cyrillic makes my head hurt! But I'm still a fan of these classes (Mongols! Yay! :) )
Thank you all for your prayers and love. I miss you all, and wish you could all be here with me!
I'll keep telling you stories when I can, kay? :)
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Adventuring Again
Well, hello again.
It's time to put this blog through its paces again. It's time to rev up its engines and set it going.
I'm headed off on another adventure, and this time it's a doozy... as if my last one wasn't!
Check out this page to see what I mean:
http://blogs.cui.edu/atw/
(You can find my sendoff video under my name in the "Travellers" tab.)
I'll be updating you when I can here on outplanet-aether and on my TripColor (which, if you have an iPhone, you can join for free and follow me there): http://www.tripcolor.com/user/38095 You can also take a peek at my Twitter feed, over there on the right.
Allrighty then. Cheerio, chums. Prayers, thoughts, and well-wishes are much appreciated. I'll miss you friends back in the states, and I'm looking forward to being with you, new friends, around the world!
LAUNCH DATE: August 5, 2012. LAUNCH PREPARATIONS IN PROGRESS. ALL SYSTEMS ARE CLEAR FOR TAKEOFF.
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
It's time to put this blog through its paces again. It's time to rev up its engines and set it going.
I'm headed off on another adventure, and this time it's a doozy... as if my last one wasn't!
Check out this page to see what I mean:
http://blogs.cui.edu/atw/
(You can find my sendoff video under my name in the "Travellers" tab.)
I'll be updating you when I can here on outplanet-aether and on my TripColor (which, if you have an iPhone, you can join for free and follow me there): http://www.tripcolor.com/user/38095 You can also take a peek at my Twitter feed, over there on the right.
Allrighty then. Cheerio, chums. Prayers, thoughts, and well-wishes are much appreciated. I'll miss you friends back in the states, and I'm looking forward to being with you, new friends, around the world!
LAUNCH DATE: August 5, 2012. LAUNCH PREPARATIONS IN PROGRESS. ALL SYSTEMS ARE CLEAR FOR TAKEOFF.
Your friendly neighborhood aethernaut,
~M~
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Thursday, December 1, 2011
her secret
Paris is an introvert.
She's that cousin you only see on holidays; the one who stands in the corner (wrapped in a massive scarf) with her wine glass and says no more than two words at a time.
Usually, the words are: "Oh, yes, I know about that." ("Ah, je le connaîs.")
She seems to know everything about every subject, but when pursued, a twinkle comes in her eye, like she's keeping a massive and beautiful secret, and she says no more.
"What is your secret? What IS it about you?" I have asked, many times. For three months, her reply has only been the twinkle.
But, this time, she winked, as to a confidante.
So what IS it about Paris?
... Sorry, I can't tell you. It's a secret. =)
~M~
She's that cousin you only see on holidays; the one who stands in the corner (wrapped in a massive scarf) with her wine glass and says no more than two words at a time.
Usually, the words are: "Oh, yes, I know about that." ("Ah, je le connaîs.")
She seems to know everything about every subject, but when pursued, a twinkle comes in her eye, like she's keeping a massive and beautiful secret, and she says no more.
"What is your secret? What IS it about you?" I have asked, many times. For three months, her reply has only been the twinkle.
But, this time, she winked, as to a confidante.
So what IS it about Paris?
... Sorry, I can't tell you. It's a secret. =)
~M~
Sunday, October 23, 2011
métro zen
Salut mes amis! Ça va?
I ADORE taking the métro here in Paris. Yes, it's true. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. What's my secret?
Here, for your pleasure: "How To Achieve Zen On The Métro." =D
Step One: Know where you're going. That one's a given. If you have to stop to analyze the signs, you're going to disturb the zen.
Step Two: Get that Parisian pedestrian face on and traipse down those stairs like they aren't even there. Secretly congratulate yourself once you get to the bottom for not tripping and falling on your face.
Step Three: Keep your Navigo pass in a place where you don't have to fish it out to use it. Just put your whole bag on the sensor, let that little green light beep, and breeze straight through the gate without stopping. Again, secretly congratulate yourself.
Step Four: Look at all those people waiting for the next train! But don't panic! Calmly find the optimal position. It's usually down at the end of the platform; no one wants to walk all that way! Then, get as close to the track as it is safe and possible to be. If the whole track is lined with people, second best is right behind a snappy businessman. He is going to do everything possible to get on that next train, and will serve as an excellent "battering ram" for you.
Step Five: If you're close enough, enjoy the rush of sudden wind that the train will generate when it pulls up. Imagine you're in one of those old movies with the steam trains pulling up in the fog.
Step Six: Board the train. If it is REALLY crowded, this is harder than it sounds. Look for the open spaces, and know the magic word "Pardon!" Try to get yourself as far back into the car as you can, so that the people behind you won't push you. If you can, try to maneuver yourself into one of the optimal positions. An optimal position is anywhere that has a wall or folding chair behind you (and the back door counts as a wall; it never opens). Best of all is the chair right next to the door. Why are these best? If it is extremely crowded, you will not have to move when others disembark (and the closer you are to the door, the less you will have to push through people to disembark).
Step Seven: Have headphones on and let your music meld with the sounds of the métro. Quel musique? I'm glad you asked. You don't want true zen music, or you risk going to sleep. Nor do you want something too harsh. The point isn't to ESCAPE the métro by focusing on the music, but to find that place where the whole métro BECOMES the music. I usually pick something semi-repetitive with a defined dance beat. Like these:
http://youtu.be/gUzQtSLu_zI
http://youtu.be/TLqICjQRmC8
And if you're in a hurry, just increase the tempo a little bit, and you can still keep your zen: http://youtu.be/NoAtnJoSNHQ
While listening, notice how the periodic bleat of the "door closing" alarm perfectly fits the beat of the song you're listening to, or how the car ahead of you bumps up and down like a careening time machine, or how that harsh curve caused the lights to flicker like you're in the Twilight Zone, or how the reflections in the windows look like Impressionistic art. Find beauty in something. Pretend you're in a music video or a moving painting.
Step Eight: Exit the métro. Again, know the magic word "Pardon!" If you're at the far back corner of the car, make sure you start positioning yourself to leave before the train stops. Often, the people in front of you will notice and move before you even speak. (And, make sure you do this for others too! Watch for people who suddenly pick up their belongings, start intently peering over people's heads, or even just stand up a little straighter. With practice, the subtlest motions to leave can be easily noticed.)
Step Nine: Breeze through those hallways, seeking all the open spaces. Get up those stairs two by two. They are not the boss of you! Walk up escalators, if there are any. 'Force push' those automatic sorties open! Just let your legs carry you onward and upward, like that urban Tarzan you are!
Step Ten: Emerge into the sunlight with a contented sigh. Breathe in that crisp clear air. Let your face balloon into a gleeful smile. (Then quickly wipe it off and put that Parisian pedestrian face back on!)
There you have it. That's how I use the métro every day! How do YOU achieve zen in the mundane moments of your life?
Your friend, the aethernaut,
~M~
I ADORE taking the métro here in Paris. Yes, it's true. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. What's my secret?
Here, for your pleasure: "How To Achieve Zen On The Métro." =D
Step One: Know where you're going. That one's a given. If you have to stop to analyze the signs, you're going to disturb the zen.
Step Two: Get that Parisian pedestrian face on and traipse down those stairs like they aren't even there. Secretly congratulate yourself once you get to the bottom for not tripping and falling on your face.
Step Three: Keep your Navigo pass in a place where you don't have to fish it out to use it. Just put your whole bag on the sensor, let that little green light beep, and breeze straight through the gate without stopping. Again, secretly congratulate yourself.
Step Four: Look at all those people waiting for the next train! But don't panic! Calmly find the optimal position. It's usually down at the end of the platform; no one wants to walk all that way! Then, get as close to the track as it is safe and possible to be. If the whole track is lined with people, second best is right behind a snappy businessman. He is going to do everything possible to get on that next train, and will serve as an excellent "battering ram" for you.
Step Five: If you're close enough, enjoy the rush of sudden wind that the train will generate when it pulls up. Imagine you're in one of those old movies with the steam trains pulling up in the fog.
Step Six: Board the train. If it is REALLY crowded, this is harder than it sounds. Look for the open spaces, and know the magic word "Pardon!" Try to get yourself as far back into the car as you can, so that the people behind you won't push you. If you can, try to maneuver yourself into one of the optimal positions. An optimal position is anywhere that has a wall or folding chair behind you (and the back door counts as a wall; it never opens). Best of all is the chair right next to the door. Why are these best? If it is extremely crowded, you will not have to move when others disembark (and the closer you are to the door, the less you will have to push through people to disembark).
Step Seven: Have headphones on and let your music meld with the sounds of the métro. Quel musique? I'm glad you asked. You don't want true zen music, or you risk going to sleep. Nor do you want something too harsh. The point isn't to ESCAPE the métro by focusing on the music, but to find that place where the whole métro BECOMES the music. I usually pick something semi-repetitive with a defined dance beat. Like these:
http://youtu.be/gUzQtSLu_zI
http://youtu.be/TLqICjQRmC8
And if you're in a hurry, just increase the tempo a little bit, and you can still keep your zen: http://youtu.be/NoAtnJoSNHQ
While listening, notice how the periodic bleat of the "door closing" alarm perfectly fits the beat of the song you're listening to, or how the car ahead of you bumps up and down like a careening time machine, or how that harsh curve caused the lights to flicker like you're in the Twilight Zone, or how the reflections in the windows look like Impressionistic art. Find beauty in something. Pretend you're in a music video or a moving painting.
Step Eight: Exit the métro. Again, know the magic word "Pardon!" If you're at the far back corner of the car, make sure you start positioning yourself to leave before the train stops. Often, the people in front of you will notice and move before you even speak. (And, make sure you do this for others too! Watch for people who suddenly pick up their belongings, start intently peering over people's heads, or even just stand up a little straighter. With practice, the subtlest motions to leave can be easily noticed.)
Step Nine: Breeze through those hallways, seeking all the open spaces. Get up those stairs two by two. They are not the boss of you! Walk up escalators, if there are any. 'Force push' those automatic sorties open! Just let your legs carry you onward and upward, like that urban Tarzan you are!
Step Ten: Emerge into the sunlight with a contented sigh. Breathe in that crisp clear air. Let your face balloon into a gleeful smile. (Then quickly wipe it off and put that Parisian pedestrian face back on!)
There you have it. That's how I use the métro every day! How do YOU achieve zen in the mundane moments of your life?
Your friend, the aethernaut,
~M~
Monday, October 3, 2011
little joys
Joined Polyvore =) Here's one of the aesthetics of Paris:
I'm making a list of the little joys I'm discovering while in Paris.
On the Métro...
#1. Swinging aboard like an urban Tarzan right as the doors are about to close.
#2. Finding that ONE station where that whole crowd around you decides to get off.
#3. Pretending to "force push" the automatic 'sorties' open.
#4. When you know the route so well that you don't have to look for the signs anymore... and can keep reading G.K. Chesterton instead.
#5. Letting the sounds of the rails on the tracks merge with the Kraftwerk music playing through your earphones.
#6. Finishing that one last level of "Cut the Rope" with a magnificent flick of your fingers WHILE exiting at the correct stop.
#7. That gypsy accordion player at the far end of your car.
#8. Watching the car ahead of you bump up and down like a prototype time machine.
#9. When the train makes such a sharp turn that the lights start to flicker as if you've veered into the Twilight Zone.
Being there...
#1. When your iPod automatically shuffles to JUST THE RIGHT SONG for that spot you're in.
#2. Getting to an appointment late, then realizing, "OH! I forgot... that meeting was actually TOMORROW!"
#3. When you find that perfect view (or picture) completely by accident.
#4. The day you realize that the hot chocolate in the vending machine is only 30 cents.
#5. Walking past a boulangerie early enough in the morning to smell the bread baking.
#6. Singing in French... and realizing you know the song!
#7. Walking by a church just as the bells chime.
#8. Walking into a huge cathedral like Notre Dame right as Mass is starting.
#9. Enjoying an omelette at a café... then noticing that some tourist is taking a picture of the café you're sitting at.
#10. Realizing that Montmartre is just as nice with tourists as without.
#11. Learning a new word without looking it up in the dictionary... and using it correctly!
But you don't have to be in Paris to make a list of "little joys!" What are some of the little joys in YOUR life right now? =)
Your friendly corresponding aethernaut,
M
I'm making a list of the little joys I'm discovering while in Paris.
On the Métro...
#1. Swinging aboard like an urban Tarzan right as the doors are about to close.
#2. Finding that ONE station where that whole crowd around you decides to get off.
#3. Pretending to "force push" the automatic 'sorties' open.
#4. When you know the route so well that you don't have to look for the signs anymore... and can keep reading G.K. Chesterton instead.
#5. Letting the sounds of the rails on the tracks merge with the Kraftwerk music playing through your earphones.
#6. Finishing that one last level of "Cut the Rope" with a magnificent flick of your fingers WHILE exiting at the correct stop.
#7. That gypsy accordion player at the far end of your car.
#8. Watching the car ahead of you bump up and down like a prototype time machine.
#9. When the train makes such a sharp turn that the lights start to flicker as if you've veered into the Twilight Zone.
Being there...
#1. When your iPod automatically shuffles to JUST THE RIGHT SONG for that spot you're in.
#2. Getting to an appointment late, then realizing, "OH! I forgot... that meeting was actually TOMORROW!"
#3. When you find that perfect view (or picture) completely by accident.
#4. The day you realize that the hot chocolate in the vending machine is only 30 cents.
#5. Walking past a boulangerie early enough in the morning to smell the bread baking.
#6. Singing in French... and realizing you know the song!
#7. Walking by a church just as the bells chime.
#8. Walking into a huge cathedral like Notre Dame right as Mass is starting.
#9. Enjoying an omelette at a café... then noticing that some tourist is taking a picture of the café you're sitting at.
#10. Realizing that Montmartre is just as nice with tourists as without.
#11. Learning a new word without looking it up in the dictionary... and using it correctly!
But you don't have to be in Paris to make a list of "little joys!" What are some of the little joys in YOUR life right now? =)
Your friendly corresponding aethernaut,
M
Thursday, September 22, 2011
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." =)
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." =)
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
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
"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
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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
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
Friday, May 27, 2011
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
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
Thursday, January 13, 2011
(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
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
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
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
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
Thursday, July 29, 2010
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
Friday, July 2, 2010
emotional objects
hello universe!
haven't been writing much lately; my poetic aether has been in a rather stationary and uninteresting orbit as of late. perhaps i should find some new inspirations.
one might be this: have you ever considered that pretty much every person has an "emotional object?" something that reminds you of something attached to deep emotion that causes the object to become more important than it literally is? i've realized that knowing about another's emotional object suddenly helps you understand something deep about that person's personality, something beyond words, something that's rather akin to poetry. some of the poetry of our lives can be written in a single stuffed animal, blanket, necklace or piece of fabric.
have you ever considered what poem might be written in your emotional object? perhaps soon i shall write mine.
until my aethership alters course,
maggie langdon
Friday, June 18, 2010
kingdom of the outplanets
hello universe!
otherworldly beauty is amazingly easy to find on this planet... just look around and notice. is this why the best poems are those written about ideas and people outside of one's self?found this in my backyard the other day; to me it looked like a transplanted seed from an outplanet:
in other news, it has been very informative reading "Poet's Market" and noting what kinds of poetry is encouraged and discouraged by various publishers and magazines. I found it especially interesting how many discourage "religious" poetry. at first blush, this tendency appears somewhat discouraging to Christians like me, but after I thought about it, I realized that this too has to do with the idea that "the best poems are written about ideas and people outside of one's self." let me explain...
it seems to me that there are two kinds of "religious poetry," and most editors seem to know this, as evidenced by the fact that the Chautauqua Literary Journal gave a specific name to the undesirable kind: "hackneyed spiritual versifying." what makes the difference between the two kinds is the focus. "hackneyed spiritual versifying" is primarily self-centered in its heart. it is the kind that uses all the "right" words (like "born again" or "fellowship") to describe a vaguely spiritual feeling that makes God into a tool for our own self-exaltation. this kind of worldview also comes out in everyday life, but in poetry, the wrongness of it becomes more blatant; poetry, I think more so than any other art form, has a way of exposing the deepest orientations of the heart. as such, the "God-as-Santa-Claus" worldview tends to create bad poetry, the kind of poetry that just grates on every inner sinew of your body and makes you feel like you've touched some kind of deadly disease. this is not what should characterize "religious poetry." real religious poetry should be defined by its focus on God as He is, not as we wish Him to be to our own comfort. besides, the way He really is turns out to be way better than our imaginings of Him! this way, the poetry can "reach for the moon, and land among the stars."
an outward focus creates the beauty of the outplanets. the self is such a small kingdom, and poetry was created to plumb depths too large for self. is this why poetry is not as popular as it once was? because well-written poetry (even poetry that is not obviously religious) showcases the endless boundaries of God's kingdom and emphasizes the smallness of our own kingdoms? or because so much self-centered poetry has been written that people don't know what well-written poetry is anymore?
keep creating, friends, poetry and art and stories and structures and equations and lives that showcase the Kingdom without falling back on "hackneyed spiritual versifying."
until the aether realigns,
maggie langdon
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