Our greatest problem is not how to continue but how to return. "How can I repay unto the Lord his bountiful dealings with me?" (Psalm 116:12). When life is an answer, death is a home-coming.

The deepest wisdom a man can attain is to know that his destiny is to aid, to serve. ...

This is the meaning of death: the ultimate self-dedication to the divine. Death so understood will not be distorted by the craving for immortality, for this act of giving away is the reciprocity on man's part for God's gift of life.
For the pious man it is a privilege to die.

- Abraham J Heschel

I doubt I will ever reach a point in my life where I can deem any of my words--spoken or written--to be as pungent and straightforward with authority as these.

What does it take?
I am no theologian. I am no philosopher. I am not seventy, or eighty.

I'm twenty. Hopelessly, twenty. As if it is somehow my fault for being younger than I feel, or older than perhaps I look. Some people probably think they are somehow better than me because they are older. I'm not "allowed to drink" and all that frivolity.


Well whooppie.


I do not understand this.

I do feel: helplessly uninspired and bored out of my head with restlessness of here.


ah, I'm frustrated tonight.

shane claiborne, and all the southern mother teresas

Park Street at 7pm yesterday: a gathering of nose-ringed-dred-locked-salvo-clothed-college kids, I'm-a-young-mother-but-that-doesn't-stop-me-from-being-here women, later-middle-aged-button-up-just-came-from-the-business-meeting gentlemen, we've-been-recycling-and-eating-organic-since-you-folks-were-born couples, I've-worn-this-shirt-all-week guys, and I-go-to-gordon folks.

Especially the latter.

Well, I specify (or unspecify) the stereotype for a sort of reason. We were all there, we all laughed at the same jokes, sang the same songs (and did a little howdy-ho knee slapping in our heads), we were challenged with the same challenges.

The Simple Way

Awesome weekend spent in Boston.
In other news, I am taking next semester off. I said it.

I got a lovely yellow candle today, lemongrass and orange. It smells sweet like lemon-lime soda. It smells SO GOOD. I didn't even have to burn it, it smelled up my whole room. That's when you know you're in the presence of a good candle.

The snow can go away now.

New Year, New Home, New Major, New Classes, New Day.

Year: This year I hope to read more. It snowed last night and today I am snuggled and reading Six Names of Beauty by Sartwell. Luscious stuff.

Home: The home is lovely, warm, clean, full of fabric and candles, and lacking visitation hours. We cook with gas here, which makes everything taste better. I love the girls, and I foresee wonderful times ahead. Jasper the kitty (not really a kitty anymore) is living with us too; giving us a nice dose of male presence all day long (except when he is hiding in the closet). He has recently discovered the shower head and its many dripping wonders.
Last night was a grand housewarming get together. I am so blessed to be surrounded by such excellence.

Major: Yes, again. I'm now Philosophy and Theatre.

Classes: Exciting. Aesthetics, Playwriting, Hebrew II, Justice.

Day: Snow dusting every branch, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Just like people. I need to remember that. I'm not trying to be corny here, much as its not working.
Shlomy is right: let us be fully present every day. I know I will be failing at that a lot. I apologize sincerely to you if you have felt slighted by me in any way, and I am sorry for my selfishness.

In other news, Jasper woke me up this morning purring loudly in my face (very adorable!) because, I assumed, he was hungry. So, I got up and fed him and he was ravenously pushing me out of the way to get to the bowl- he even was licking the knife I used to cut his gelatinous food mass (always delicious) into his bowl. This was about 9am. So, 9:30 Rachel wakes up and says that she had already fed him at 7. Very sneaky. Very sneaky indeed. Now he is lounging under my side table- his new favorite spot when he can't get into the closet.

Thoughts on an Orange.

I

What is it, exactly, that’s like

popping in your mouth a section of orange

and crudely crunching on a seed,

knowing it’s broken into so many pieces-

there’s no way to get them all out.

II

I wonder if performing abdominal surgery

is very much like using the end of my pencil

to tear the papery flesh membrane of

the thinner part of an orange wedge—

still attached to the remaining

half-or-so of round crystalline fruit—

to victoriously poke out a seed.

III

What makes a good orange?

malleable

meaty and crisp

vibrant and cool,

cleansing

clear; not dusty

a few seeds.

In this place, in a colorful armchair hugging my knees, carefully sitting crosslegged.
Perfectly put, with a sweatered, pacing man waiting for a webpage to load or for a phone call.
Many composition notebooks. A muscled leather coat that's been touched by many hands and years secured over the shoulders of the tall chair. He's standing now. Tapping a boot-toe on the ground. Over and over. Backing up, going forward; bending at the knee. Leaning over, pulling on the leather. Tapping heels on the ground, stretching calves.
Ever the pull of the computer screen,
pulling his eyes.

Then, he is gone.


I can't find a good enough video of this song, but go listen to it.
The Commander Thinks Aloud by The Long Winters

Panera coffee is awful.

Ah the rainy Saturday. Lying on a big smooshy bed in my pjs, I'm not going out today.
I finally have a space heater, so I can feel my hands and face.
I'm telling you, musings with turkish coffee and the best sugar cookies no kidding (that is the actual recipe name) are racking up to be quite the frequent pastime these past weeks.

But, I do miss the outward sprawl.

and these people.





once I find my camera, more pictures.

Hello, Advent.

I will be missing my women.










a toast to graduatedness and....
peace - salaam - shalom
finals being almost done
life
success
motivation

the thousandth day ever

It is, it seems: the thousandth day ever. Semesters fly, they stall, they crash. I have no idea what time warp I'm in, but seriously, this must be some serious fun I'm having for things to go by like this.

the Decemberists. My inner radio is on repeat, I'm thinking.

My living room smells like sponges and homemade hot-chocolate (not the best mixture)
the colors seem a little gray except for the pile of presents uniformly covered in red paper with tiny snowmen. They add a nice feel to this place.

back to the days of my favorite words.
placate, fiction, glorious, bountiful
conservation, nativity, allocate
lovely.

Finally

I think we have an apartment. It is a cute, 2 bedroom place with a pretty large living room (bump-out window!) and a sunflower border in the kitchen. Gas stove, so we can cook good things. Laundry right in the kitchen. Hopefully that will be good (loud?). but I think this is good. I hope we hear back before Thursday whether we got it.

I am not prepared for my History final tomorrow, and I'm not sure what it would take for me to feel prepared. I am studying now.

I really like writing plays. I am very much looking forward to playwriting next semester. Perhaps it will help me know if that is a calling of mine.

Sunshine and 50 degrees today.


לחיים ואת אהבת האמת
to life and love and truth