the spring rises the dead.

I've been avoiding this, like most things that seem too big to tackle and therefore continue on being the stagnant thing they are for months.
This includes my room. I'm in the midst of a cluttery chair piled with sweaters and a desk covered with paper and candles (good mix?) and tiny boxes. I have a new (old) dresser standing in the middle of the floor, waiting to be put to use. It's a nice dresser, made by my great grandfather; I'm eager (in some ways) to use it- reorganize and downsize by belongings.

So, for update on life: I'm swallowed almost completely with the theatre right now. In most ways, this is a blessing like I've never experienced; in others, I'm looking at the next few months with such apprehension as to how it will all work out schedule-wise and energy-to-keep-it-going-and-give-100%-to-each-thing-wise.
I was involved in the writing and staging of a show called I Don't Know, I Just Don't Know; a devising with 12 actors and an awesome stage crew based upon the idea of modern uncertainty; with a story line that could be catch-phrased in such a way:
"Can a therapist who doesn't believe in therapy, a man with carved duck heads, and a girl named Michael join together to save their community? I don't know, I just don't know."
If you didn't see it, sad day. It's a funny piece; first run, of course- it needs editing and all that. But I'm proud. I will have the DVD hopefully shortly.

Literally the day after that show closed we had auditions for the next show, Godspell, which I was fortunate to be cast in (for me, first show directed by Jeff). I love this show. I am always psyched for rehearsals, and I'm suprised this honeymoon stage hasn't worn off yet, honestly. But take it while you can. Simultaneously I'm directing a short piece for a class: WASP by Steve Martin (yes, that Steve Martin) with a cast of four friends. I also work for the North Shore YMCA Theatre Company, and we just finished casting our next show of the Music Man Jr. with two casts of about 60 children between the ages of 6-17. It's a blast, but my vocal chords are tired of projecting for hours on end.

So that's the main structure of my time/life as of now, with my other class meshed in there- as well as eating and sleeping and being at my house.

I just finished reading the Alchemist by Pauolo Coelho. A short read, and a worthy one. It is a contemplative discussion about a lot of relevant things. The story starts off with a prologue about the alchemist (an unnamed, ambiguous character at the moment) finding a book that belongs to someone in the caravan that you assume he is travelling with- retelling the story of Narcisuss: a young man who is so fascinted with his own beauty that one day he falls into the lake and drowns; and a flower grows up and blooms where he had been on the shore. But this particular telling ended with the goddess of the forest asking the lake why it had transformed into salt water (made of tears). It replied that is was weeping for Narcissus, not because of the loss of a great beauty, but rather because when Narcissus bent over and looked into the lake, the lake saw its own beauty reflected in his eyes.

Then the story starts, and you kind of just forget about the prologue- it starts off somewhere else, and the alchemist is just a mentioned character until near the end. And then after it was done, I remembered. The prologue! What's interesting about this is that the book is about following what the main character calls his "Personal Legend", which is probably a lot more beautiful in the original language of Portuguese, but no matter. It begged the question of me; isn't this selfish? This character, Santiago, drops everything and everyone to follow his "Personal Legend" and leans how to listen to his heart and all this (it's a stylized story; you have to allow yourself some corny-ness) to find his "treasure". The Alchemist, who he meets much later in the story, helps him to achieve a lot of this knowledge, simply by challenging him in the right ways. But I still felt a little uncomfortable (maybe a little jealous) about how he moved from place to place and people to people all in search and pursuit of his treasure. It seemed to be rooted in something that was slightly, well, narcissistic. The End. Then, I remembered the prologue and there was a mini circle that was formed; in searching for- and being able to see- your own 'Legend' (or, Beauty) other people also find theirs as well, both their meaning and beauty. And the fact that the Alchemist reads this story at the beginning (and comments on it "What a lovely story,") you get this feeling that the alchemist is a sort of god-figure, or a kind of all-knowing Gandalf (someone you would feel safe around, haha) someone who exists almost outside of time- as the prologue stands outside of the time of the story. You trust what he says and thinks for this reason, and when you view the story through the lens of the prologue, it can completely change the reading and meaning.
All that to say, I wish I read Portuguese. There's no doubt things are always better in their original language.




Oh, and happy Spring.
and, I need headshots.

On the Haitian Tragedy and how I can still go on Facebook.

I can hardly believe the things that are happening in Haiti right now.
No accepted death toll, millions displaced and dying of simple trauma that would never be a death sentence in any other part of the world.
This is a disgrace to the world order. Relief shipments and planes of supplies are being turned away because of mass confusion and miscommunication.
I wish we lived in a world with a UN tragedy relief net so that these things are dealt with immediately and succinctly.
The world is broken, and nature does not give a flipping shit about us. The world is not beautiful.
I believe the natural world would exist without humanity, and perhaps it is striving to do so.

And yet, I still eat my breakfast, complain to myself how cold my feet are right now, and log onto Facebook.

Sometimes, I hate myself.

and I bend.

That daisy in the window? That is me,

it is 1950. One daily rotation of the pot, a mere forty-five degrees

atop this turquoise sill.

I do lean back towards it- bubble small gum pop

and nose grease triangles:

distractions to the faint of heart. But I know what I want.

that heat I crave, the tempter of my gain, the lover

who explains.

Curving like a lady, twisting amongst a pole,

those forty-five degrees, creating a tapestry:

while she’s pushing back her cuticles,

I twirl as a curl of lace.

I stare out among the thorns, those

stems protruding machetes like a

hapless guerilla. divide and conquer. divide—

If only we got report cards on our lives,

we would know how we were doing. Except, ahhh I am failing at life right now.

I have goals set, but it is all for naught.
This is the beginning of a long winter in which I am a small bump nestled on a rotting log, holed away in some cavern drinking day old tea.

and god, this paper will not come to me.

So, you like the taste of meat.

You like the smell of it in the morning as bacon. You love the BBQ, the grilling, the supple meat that falls off the bone. You don't mind the word "slaughter house". Educate yourselves. HERE.

This is truth, and NOT an exception.
There is no way to avoid, nothing you can argue to make this acceptable; nothing to refute its large-scale truth here in America. Why should we allow something this grotesque just for the taste in our mouths- a momentary pleasure that will never satisfy?

You think you care about sustainability? CARE BIGGER.
Factory farming is without a doubt the NUMBER ONE contributor to environmental corruption and decrease.
the effect of factory farming on the environment.

New York Times Article
from this article:
“I’m not sure that the system we have for livestock can be sustainable,” said Dr. Pachauri of the United Nations. A sober scientist, he suggests that “the most attractive” near-term solution is for everyone simply to “reduce meat consumption,” a change he says would have more effect than switching to a hybrid car.
..Soy cultivation has doubled in Brazil during the past decade, and more than half is used for animal feed.
...Estimates of emissions from agriculture as a percentage of all emissions vary widely from country to country, but they are clearly over 50 percent in big agricultural and meat-producing countries like Brazil, Australia and New Zealand."

This article is arguably even in favor of meat-eating, but acknowledges the excessive impact that the meat industry has on the environment. Read it.

Friends, the true heart of a person is determined by his/her treatment of animals. A truly heroic kindness is compassion for an animal; for an animal cannot give anything back. God has dominion power over us, but does he exploit us for his own gain? It is not just about the rights of animals, but the mercy and compassion of man enacting the model God has set for his creation.


A human being is a part of the whole, called by us the “Universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest ~ a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us.

Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but the striving for such achievement is in itself a part of the liberation, and a foundation for inner security.
-- Albert Einstein

There are only two responses. ACTION, or LAZINESS.
And friends, I am lazy; so lazy; all the time. We must strive for this, and that will be the liberation from our small limitations for love and compassion.

What you do unto the least of these, my brothers....

If God is Love, and Love is Real...

too many things to think of, I must sleep.

Delicious Vegan Maple-Pecan Shortbread Cookies

This is a found-and-modified recipe!

Delicious Vegan Maple-Pecan Shortbread Cookies

1 cup pecans (heaping!)
1 cup rolled oats or spelt flakes
½ cup unbleached white flour
½ cup fine Corn flour
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t. cinnamon
1/3 cup earth balance, softened
1/4 cup maple syrup/agave syrup
2 t. vanilla
optional: whole pecan halves to press into top before baking

In a blender or food processor, place the pecans, and pulse a few times to roughly chop. Transfer 1/3 cup of the chopped pecans to a small bowl and set aside. Add the oats/spelt flakes to the remaining pecans in the blender and process to finely grind them together. Add the flour, brown sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon, pulse a few times to combine, and set aside. In a medium bowl, place the earth balance, maple syrup, and vanilla, and stir the mixture until smooth. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir well to combine. Add the reserved chopped pecans.

Using your hands, roll into 1” balls and flatten, pressing pecan half into top, if using. Bake at 325 degrees for 10-15 minutes or until lightly browned on the bottom. Cool on the cookie sheets for 3 minutes before transferring them to a rack to cool completely. Store the cookies in an airtight container.

This recipe would also be easy to make gluten-free if needed. Replace white flour with sorghum flour, and use rolled oats. EASY PEESY.

Ches- the Prancing Pony

this morning I delighted myself by sitting in the first booth in the prancing pony- in the light that was pooling onto the table, and reminiscing in such sentimentality for those mornings, days, afternoons, evenings of studying in there for Hebrew, listening to chatterings about Romans and Galatians, some silly group of sophomores playing Justin Timberlake in the next booth, many wrapped muffins, the dark wood, the tiny flashcards.
I miss it all. The silly group of sophomores thing actually did happen today, so I had something real to work with...
And then lo and behold, Shlomes himself pops around the corner, awaking in me the realization that I forgot the vegan cookies I was going to bring to him this morning before his test and flight. woops. But there he was, which made the small fantasy world more real, though we were missing some real treasured people to make the moment complete. One of those things being... time.
...Oh well, right? I'm not so sure I'm okay with all of this slipping away so fast.

I miss so many things. This weather has me caught by the throat I feel, I can't let it go because it has me against my will. though I do relish in the memory moments.
And, I miss so many things. Like, I miss them; I miss the occurrences. I'm too busy sniffling and blinking and counting that I miss things that happen. Maybe it is because of the things that I long for, I don't know.
But I'm thoroughly at the point of loneliness. And on my teabag paper tag yesterday there was a quote from mark twain (I think it was) something along the lines of 'true loneliness is in not being comfortable with yourself.'

and I thought, how poignant.

Vegetarianism... and Parenting

Every factory-farmed animal is, as a practice, treated in ways that would be illegal if it were a dog or a cat. Turkeys have been so genetically modified they are incapable of natural reproduction. To acknowledge that these things matter is not sentimental. It is a confrontation with the facts about animals and ourselves. We know these things matter.

...

I won’t measure my success as a parent by whether my children share my values, but by whether they act according to their own.

--Jonathan Safran Foer
in THIS ARTICLE, which was given to me by Shlomy on why and how he gave up meat.

Two great words of wisdom.

I’m a collector of interesting voices.

Ears:
my bits of tiny fly paper
pink and sensitive, scratched hard.
with elbows on wood, a table set
for Kings, Joshua, Judges,
Ruth.

And being so easily persuaded;
my fall is too hard and my rising too heavy
without your help.
Please, don’t let me speak. I repel even those who love
the lowest.
Just support me with your frame-
for here’s a setback in refinement,
as iron on iron no longer inspires.

I am isolated but for a costly few-
what have I given of myself?
please save me! I’m crying all the time!
I’m at the threshold of your door,
beneath your windowsill.
Let me inside!—or rather, let You inside of me!
You know where to saturate
and satiate completely.

I am that table, and God-
He was at one time, the tablecloth;
pouring out my mouth like a trembling April moth,
drawn to the light outside the door-
the drone entering my sticky tunnel;
binding to the walls with such strength.
But he’s not in there anymore.
oh, here’s just a platter of numb disciples portraying a band-aid.
no one is here.
No one is here to notice the unclothed table:
the silverware is gone, gone. And the dishes-
they are gone too. but the wine glasses;
the wine glasses, the wine glasses,
they are filled.