Antilamentation

“…You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the window.
Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied of expectation.
Relax. Don’t bother remembering any of it. Let’s stop here,
under the lit sign on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.”

Excerpt From: Laux, Dorianne. “The Book of Men.” WW Norton, 2011. iBooks.

not really plagiarism

I suppose I should just send you all to Sarah’s blog at www.redamancylit.wordpress.com and shut this one down, since I just keep “stealing” her posts and putting them up here.

But this was just too perfect to pass up.

Thanks, Sarah.

In the beginning, spirituality is a seeking practice. We seek peace, we seek joy, we seek wisdom, we seek awakening, we seek self betterment. Farther down the road, the realization comes that we already are the peace and joy and wisdom and awakening and self betterment that we seek. At that point, spirituality becomes what it is… Not a practice of seeking anything. But a practice of uncovering what was there inside you all along. You already are the light at the end of the tunnel. You already are the wisdom, you already are the peace, you already are the joy. You already are awakened, you already are perfect. All that’s left is for you to discover that you are.

– Teal Scott

I am?

Really?

Maybe it is, actually, enough just to be looking.

(Beatific smile)

Don’t google your name.

Sarah’s back.

She always knows just what to say.

Don’t google your name. Ever.
Don’t “search” for yourself
on anything that glows in the dark.
Don’t let your beauty
be something anyone can turn off.
Don’t edit your ugly out of your bio.
Let your light come from the fire.
Let your pain be the spark,
but not the timber.
Remember, you didn’t come here
to write your heart out.
You came to write it in.

– Andrea Gibson

choose happiness

Let’s say you’re walking along this winding path, and the path narrows to pass between two cliffs.

Blocking the path is a fairy/troll/genie/wizard, and he and/or she offers you passage.

But to pass you have to select one of two things to carry with you.

The first is a really large, heavy, ugly, dirty rock

"Stupid crap" includes all of the painful stuff that has happened to you that still makes you mad/sad/bitter/resentful and that you can't seem to let go of.

“Stupid crap” includes all of the painful stuff that has happened to you that still makes you mad/sad/bitter/resentful and that you can’t seem to let go of.

The other is a basket full of good things

You can't see it all but the basket contains champagne and chocolate and good books and sunshine and blue skies and happiness and love.

You can’t see it all but the basket contains champagne and chocolate and good books and sunshine and blue skies and happiness and love.

This seems like a stupid question, I mean, Chuh! but which one would you carry?

and which one were you carrying up until about two minutes ago when you realized how absolutely ridiculous it was?

You can’t hold on to all the crap, and happiness, at the same time.

You choose.

We be jammin’

There’s a little boy at “my” church who loves the piano.

He’s “plunked” the keys a few times in the middle of services — once as I was heading around the back to direct the bell choir, once on his way back from communion, but dad intercepted so he didn’t actually get any notes down.

And today.

I finished the Prelude. The opening announcements are made. The pastor stands to begin the service and I hear this little voice from behind me say, with joy and wonder, “Piano!” and then plunk. All ten little fingers on the lowest keys. Everyone turns to look, the Pastor raises his eyebrows, I lift my hands in apology and say “It wasn’t me!”

We all laughed for a bit; I laughed to myself for about 10 minutes.

This boy is a whirlwind.

I imagine his parents are exhausted. He never sits still. Never.

But that wonder and joy. I doubt any of my students approach the instrument in quite the same way.

“Piano!”

 

mesmerizing

I don’t know about you, but I was holding my breath by the end.

(and an interesting juxtaposition between her grace, concentration, and calm and the judge whose biggest achievement that day was in her virtuosic wielding of a can of hairspray)