Happy New Year!

I have not blogged much, because I have been doing a lot of creative writing. I find it is hard to do both blogging and creative writing at the same time. This break has been one of growth, but it has not been nearly as restful as I would have liked. I actually find myself feeling anxious quite often. It has been nice being home with family and friends though. I am looking forward to my creative writing class next semester. It will be a big change to go back. I am sad to have to leave, but looking forward to some quiet time and being back in a regular schedule.

Christmas was great this year. I love all of the family time the Holidays brings, even though it is stressful for everyone. There is just something special about everyone stressing to just relax and spend time together.

I am off to celebrate New years. Hope everyone has a good and safe one!

As Requested

Here are more pictures of Marlee, and if she were a boy Rufus would be cute. Tonight I went to see a friend enter the novice level of being a nun. It was the most interesting experience and fun. I want to write more about it another time. I also got to meet Bill Murray's sister, which was exciting. She is a sweet Dominican sister at Adrian. My writing has been going terrible. My brain is so fried from exams. I am just burnt out still, even though I have been off for a week. I have been enjoying some much needed refreshing conversation with Adam D. lately. I went hiking with him all day yesterday in the snow. It was a nice break from the monotony of everyday life.

The Latest Family Member

Well, after Tinkerbell's death, the house was a bit lonely. We don't know how to handle the silence so we got a puppy. She is very cute, but requires a lot of attention. Today she kept crying at her reflection in the mirror thinking it was another dog. She even started digging under the mirror like she was trying to get to the other dog. It's so sad when she cries, and she cries a lot. She's only 8 weeks old. I couldn't get her to sit still for a picture, but here's a few. She's biting on my shoelaces and untying them as I type this.

This is my religion professor from my favorite class. I'm excited for his next book to come out.

http://www.webster.edu/religion-violence/Todd_Biography.html

You should check out the abstract also.

Selfish Volunteers

I have been reflecting on something Adam has said several times. Every time he says it, I feel like he and I are on completely different pages. He always likes to bring up the fact that volunteers are selfish and use people who are suffering to feel good about themselves. I am not going to deny that volunteering involves selfishness and the desire to feel good about oneself. We learned in my religion and psychology class that people are always selfish, because it’s a part of evolution. We are designed to take care of ourselves and watch out for ourselves. My professor said, “but, don’t be fooled-humans can be the most benevolent creatures in the world, even if it is for some selfish reasons too.” I guess, I have trouble seeing how this makes it acceptable to judge volunteers. Adam made the point that some people feel like charity cases. That is a valid point, but I believe volunteering has to involve love for a person to keep doing it, especially if it’s the same activity with the same people or same group of people. Love is based on honesty and if it is a proper relationship and the volunteer is open to criticism the person should be able to express his or her concerns or feeling of being inferior. I was sad when he mentioned the women I visited in the nursing home and how they had to feel like charity cases. That might have been the case at first. I know the one especially kept telling me not to buy her flowers because it made her feel bad that she couldn’t do anything for me. As our relationship developed I told her about people who have given time selflessly to me, and how I think it’s important to pass that on. She agreed and talked about people she had helped in the past. That’s what volunteering is about giving back for all of the times we receive. This woman later gave me one of her handheld video games. It meant a lot to me even though I never played it, because all she could really do was play video games. The arthritis in her hands hurt her too much to do anything. The other woman I visited was 96. I don’t know if she ever felt like a charity case, but I do know that she had no family or friends left to visit her, and she was in need of company. I can remember this time when she had been sick. It was not long before she died. She had fallen asleep while I was there, but she looked distraught and her breathing was really irregular. I was afraid she might be dying. I held her hand and she was mumbling things that didn’t make sense. I knew she wasn’t holding my hand in her dream, but I think it was important for her to have a hand to hold. It was important for me too. I can’t deny that I started volunteering there when I was 16. It wasn’t long after my first trip to South Dakota. My first trip to Pine Ridge opened my eyes to a kind of wholeness that I had never experienced. After that there was a giant hole that had been created. The only way life felt meaningful was when I helped others feel happy or find meaning. That’s not very selfless. I gained so much wisdom from my experience there that I am the one who got more out of the experience. I eventually felt real love for those women. They helped me appreciate my own grandparents more, which I am incredibly thankful for, because I obviously had no idea how soon Mimi would die. I still have a quilt square that the 96-year-old woman gave to me on my bulletin board. I think of both women at random times. I will never forget them. I am not claiming to be a saint for this, like I said I had my own reasons for doing this, but to say that I was using these women is unacceptable. I loved these women and they loved me too. The one even told me she loved me one day. She would always offer me candy. This woman had family but they rarely visited and when they did they weren’t very nice to her. They loved her, but family is always tough to deal with because there are all of these wounds from the past out in the open. I think her family didn’t like me. They probably thought I was trying to take their place or judge them. That is unfortunate and does make me feel bad, but they weren’t the ones alone in a nursing home all of the time. I think this woman was depressed too. She was so lonely, sad, and she cried several times when I was there. Thinking about all of this makes me angry that anyone would feel they can say anything about these relationships, because they were so complex. I don’t even think anyone can comment on whether these relationships were good or bad, because no one was there to experience them except for me and two women who are now deceased.

He made another point that bothered me about how people go to New Orleans or Pine Ridge for a week and then go about their lives and forget about it. There was an article in our school paper today from a Central alumnus who is attending law school in New Orleans. The whole thing was about how the media has forgotten New Orleans and they are depending on volunteers. He was saying, “keep sending alternative breaks here. You want to be a police officer when you graduate? We need them here.” It was begging for us to continue helping. Here is the thing about New Orleans-it is such a god-awful city now. The remains of the hurricane are everywhere. It can make anyone depressed. It is totally unreal though. I knew it would be bad, but I don’t think pictures or the news can prepare people for what it is like. Even if kids only go for one week, they will be more apt to give money or feel the need to go back and help after seeing it in real life--people can't fully imagine the water marks above their heads on houses or sideways trees. There are so many stories of people living down there that went down for a week and decided to move down there to find jobs working for organizations like Habitat for Humanity to be able to survive and make a living, but still help the economy and build homes. Trust me, you don’t forget the one week spent there--ever. As for Pine Ridge, there are people who go there for a week, put up a roof and call it good. There are people who try to convert the kids there and the kids resent that. They are not stupid and they know when people feel superior. They are bitter and have every right to be. It is so rewarding to win the trust of some of these kids. I have developed real friendships out there. I love these kids and that probably sounds cheesy to people who can’t understand, but just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean you can discredit my love. I might only be able to go to the reservation once a year, but I think about those kids EVERY day. The group of us in Michigan keep in touch to share what little news we hear about the kids and talk about how we can help them and go back to the reservation. We all write letters, try to make calls (its difficult to do), or keep the connection going in any way possible. Is it selfish? I benefit just as much as they do, because it’s true altruistic love. Isn’t that what love is about? Real love is when both people benefit from the relationship and don’t expect anything more in return. It happens naturally and is not forced. It’s not like, “oh I feel like I should try to go back to the reservation and help these kids,” but instead it’s like, “I can’t wait to go see them, because I miss them." It’s about satisfying my need of missing them. I just feel sorry for people who do not get to experience the happiness these experiences give me. If that makes me selfish so be it. What selfish things do you do that make you happy? I bet we all could make never-ending lists, because we are all selfish. Accepting that is a big step towards happiness and liberation. Doing volunteer work makes me happy. I’m not going to give it up no matter what people think about it. I have seen a lot of genuine appreciative smiles in my volunteer work. That makes me smile a genuine appreciative smile. It is one of the few things that make me really love life. Why would I give that up?

Trying to Stay Sane

I have two large papers do this week and I am procrastinating. I keep staring at the screen. I wrote a paragraph of one. I did spend a couple hours doing research for the one, because I changed the piece I was analyzing. I am now taking a closer look at the 1988 play M. Butterfly, which is a piece created from the Opera Madama Butterfly as well as a New York Times article from 1986 where a man had been sleeping with a Chinese spy for twenty years and thought he was a woman the whole time. The play is interesting and should not be as hard to get seven pages from. My first choice was to compare Anton Checkov's "Lady and Pet Dog" with Joyce Carol Oates' "The lady and the pet dog." It was getting too hard to find enough research.

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving mostly, but even this weekend will be a huge relief. I need some time for myself. I probably won't get much of that at Thanksgiving and with all of this work lately I haven't had much. It is making me feel crazy. My thoughts are racing a bit because I have so much to do. It's rather overwhelming.

I felt like I wanted to blog, but I changed my mind. I think I'm getting burnt out on everything. I need a vacation, but who doesn't?

Fall

I love the campus here in the fall. Here are some pictures I took while wandering around aimlessly today in order to enjoy the beautiful weather.

Lost Keys + Lost Notebook = SADNESS

I am back from Boston and overwhelmed with trying to recover from such an exhausting weekend and homework. I like the city of Boston a lot. It is beautiful. The Amnesty International conference was not as big or impressive as I had expected compared to the other two conferences I had been too, but it was still interesting. The author of the recent book about Child Soldiers was there. His name was Israel something, but he has been on late night television quite a bit recently. There were also some professors from Harvard, one of which that had just been released from prison in China thanks to Amnesty International. His speech was very moving and both he and his wife started crying when he was up there. It was beautiful. I also went to a breakout session on Indigenous Women and the severe problem of domestic violence. I also went to one on how terrible it is that the US is the only developed nation that hasn’t signed CEDAW declaring women’s equal rights. I learned about the Umbrella campaign they are working on at Amnesty, which is a picture petition. I was taught how to start the petition at my own school, but we had an unfortunate event happen. It was pouring rain after our last session of the conference so the president of our group offered to put our folders in his backpack. I put my folder with all of my materials from the conference in there as well as my notebook. When he was at one of the several bars he went to the last night, he claims the bag was stolen. I want to be angry about it, but he lost more than anyone else. His i-pod was in there and a new book he had bought. I am thankful I didn’t lose anything of materialistic value since I spent a lot of money in Boston and I have to pay $40 for my lost keys. I am going to spend one more day looking for them tomorrow, but things are not looking good. I am most upset about losing my notebook though. I had a year’s worth of writing. It was going to be the first notebook I filled up. I was so close to having it finished. I lost my journals from falling into depression as well as climbing out of it. I lost all of my first drafts and brainstorming of things in the past years. I am most upset about losing my journals from New Orleans and when the kids from Pine Ridge were here. I will never be able to look back on those times again. It feels like I lost something valuable even though it was a notebook that was so crappy it had duct tape on it to keep it together.

I am almost finished reading Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar.” She is crazy as hell, but it is very well written. I have been enjoying it a great deal.

I am feeling stressed about working on my schedule for next semester. I just don’t know which classes I should take in addition to the three I am certain about. I just don’t want to be stuck here for more than four years, because I can’t afford to be. I worry I will if I am not efficient enough with scheduling. I am off to study for an exam I have tomorrow. I am killing time at the library like I do so well.

I Think I'll Go to Boston

I leave for Boston at 2am tomorrow night. I have a lot to get done before then, and here I am at the library wasting time. I wanted to blog about the beautiful sky I saw on my way here. It was like day North of me with the bright blue sky with white clouds that almost looked like a bunch of lines in a painting. South of me there was a gray and bluish type sky that was rather gloomy. To the West there was a beautiful sunset with orange, blue, pink, and purple. Then to the East there was just a solid salmon color. I felt like I was in a cartoon. I had never seen anything quite like it. It was beautiful and put me in a good mood despite the fact that I spent most of today alone and lost my keys yesterday.

I noticed my keys were missing when I noticed my bag was unzipped yesterday after my religion class. I retraced all of my steps then cleaned my room to look for them. After no sign of them I e-mailed my religion professor to ask if he had seen them as he left. He did not, but told me to check in the Dean's office in that building because they had a lost and found. I did, but they did not have them. I was able to leave my information in case they do find them. I also checked both desks in my dorm and the cafeteria. I have no idea where they could be. I hope that it was just me being dumb and that they are hiding somehwere I have yet to look, but I think I remember putting them in my bag...so who knows where they could have fallen out at.

We had a great discussion in my religion class about religious experiences and if we think these epiletic seizures that make people think they are experiencing God are real. It was interesting to hear everyone's personal opinions. I finished my book about the nun with that type of epilepsy and it was beautifully written. I am now half way through Sylvia Plath's. "The Bell Jar," James picked it up for me at a used book store because he knew I had been looking for it. It is brilliantly written. It is an autobiographical novel and with her being so weirdly brilliant it is easy to see how she was so depressed and crazy.

Today a friend of a friend that sits by us in class told me, "I was so glad I saw you yesterday. You looked so cheerful and happy. You are just one of those happy people that makes it contagious." I couldn't believe it, because all I did was smile and wave at this girl on her bike. Not to mention I felt like a Debbie Downer for so long, it was amazing to hear that I seem so joyful. It made my day. I have been feeling pretty good, which is exciting. I just agreed to go back to New Orleans over Christmas break. I am looking forward to going back and being mentally and physically healthy. It should be great. Well, I am stressed. I have a ton to do, but I am going to go listen to an author read some fiction with James instead of work. I am sure it will all gone...anyway, "I think I'll go to Boston where noone knows my name."

Impossible

I have four papers due next week, three of them due Monday. I am feeling so overwhelmed, which is frustrating because I actually have been feeling creative and I can't allow myself to write much unless I stay up late. I am reading this novel for my religion class about nuns and it is wonderful. It is about a nun with epilepsy that is trying to deal with the fact that all of these "unique moments she had with God" were seizures. There is actually a kind of epilepsy that is located in the temporal lobe and a kind of schizophrenia that increases "relgious experiences." They also can open up your head and mess with these parts of your brain to make you see and believe things. This nun then has to struggle with her faith. I have to write a paper on how I feel about this kind of thing. I find it hard to believe--when the mind controls everything and if someone messes with that it can distort your personality, beliefs, and senses. I am interested to see how this book ends, because I don't think that the amazing ability we have in our minds is any sort of let down. I think it's just as amazing and divine as anything else. There was one part in the book where a nun sprays a bird that is bullying another one in the fountain with a hose and another nun gets pissed. It is very amusing and reminds me of some stories my friend, Ashley, who is in the convent, has told me. Nuns are interesting characters.

Tonight we had a tornado warning that caused me to miss half of Grey's Anatomy. I also had my window open and several books got wet, luckily I caught it quickly and could dry them off before the watter seeped in.

Today I had lunch with my friend, Heather. I think I am going to go tracking with her in January. She has motion-activated cameras now, and while she has not gotten pictures of wolves like she is hoping for, she has gotten some cool pictures of bears and coyotes. I like that she is always very down-to-earth. She talked about feeling lonely lately because she is never in one place and is constantly bouncing around from place to place, so it's hard to have a group of people to be with. I love hearing stories about lonliness. I think everyone does, because how many books and movies are out there that address the issue from centuries ago until today? People like to hear about other people feeling lonely to ease their own feelings of isolation. I would like to write a piece that addresses loneliness in addition to other issues.

I talked to my religion professor yesterday about signing a religion minor. He has published a book called "Minds and Gods," (you should check it out--It's interesting). I asked him about being published and what that involves. He said he studied creative writing and considers himself a writer before a religion professor. He said he is interested in teh fact that I am a writing major and a religion minor. I like him a lot, but I am kind of intimidated by him. He said something about how teaching is not what he does, and without thinking I said something like, "well it doesn't show." Then I realized what a suck-up that made me sound like, and I was like, "that wasn't meant to suck-up. I swear." There was an awkward, but funny moment after that. It was kind of discouraging when we talked about how tough it is to get into publishing fiction. I told him I wanted to get into creative non-fiction, and when I named some of my favorite authors he said something about how to become a writer like that people have to trust you and the way you think, which takes people knowing who you are. The way to do that is usually to start with fiction or be a journalist for a well-known magazine, which involves living the "American Dream." It is so frustrating, because it seems impossible to do what I want. He did say that once you have a phD that people come to you to ask what you are writing. He referred to academic non-fiction as, "a little boys club" where everyone knows eachother and they all make sure the others gets published. It's all about who you know no matter what profession you want to go in to.

Tomorrow Drew, Elise, and Ryan are coming up from my South Dakota experiences. It was Drew's birthday yesterday so it will be nice to go to dinner with everyone for that. It always lifts up my spirits to see people from the Omega project. I wrote Enoch (from the Rez) a letter last week, because I remembered that he loved T-Pain and he did a concert at Central last week. I miss everyone from the reservation and from our group here. I just miss all of us together more than anything.

I need to go write. I have those four papers hanging over my head so I need to take advantage of what little time I have left to be creative.

Trying to Light a Fire

I am listening to my rainy day mix and feeling tired. The bottom of my pants are wet and I just got done straightening my bangs, because the rain made them stick up, untamed. I am looking at what classes I want to take next semester, because registration for sophomores begins in a week or two. I have selected which intro to creative writing class I want to take, which will be the one class I work everything else around. I always have once class I am certain about that sets the rules for the other classes. I selected this one, because I recognized the professor’s name as the woman who is in charge of the “Creative Non-Fiction” Majors in the writing department. I read a lot of creative non-fiction. I like writing all types of genres (I often feel like I wish I could write every form of genre, plays/movies, songs, poems, fiction, non-fiction, and anything else really). Natalie Godlberg, one of my favorite authors is a professional writing instructor who works with celebrities and already published authors, says that you need to read what you want to write, because you write what you read. I thought I should therefore focus on creative non-fiction. I am not certain, so I am hoping to get to know this professor well enough to share my interest in it and have an educated decision on if it is worth pursuing or the same type of style I am going for.

Yesterday I stopped in my Literary Analysis professor’s office to discuss reconstructing my paper on Anne Sexton’s poem about Sylvia Plath’s suicide. I also asked him about signing a major, and if there was any internships or work I could do in the English department. He is a very straightforward kind of guy. He told me that he was disappointed in my paper, because I was so taken by this poem, but the paper didn’t show that. He said it was too short for a “woman of [my] intelligence.” What I like about him is that he went on to elaborate and said, “I think you are very intelligent, but I can tell you that all day. You will just be like, ‘oh that old flatterer’, and you won’t believe me. I want you to write a paper that shows yourself you are intelligent so that I don’t have to tell you and neither does anyone else.” That made me feel good, because it was a real compliment without being so flattering that I shake it off. It was not cheesy or surface level, because he was telling me that my paper was crap. It has been said that he grades really tough, but he does let us resubmit our papers, but it must show almost a total makeover with many changes and insightful thoughts. He warned me that I needed to start gathering a portfolio of my creative writing work now, because he said that so many upperclassmen are naïve to the competition out there. He was like, “You don’t have time to [mess] around. You need to start TODAY, because if you want to be a writer and get a PhD in creative writing then you are going to be applying to universities that will get 300 applications for that same position-throw out half of them without hardly glancing at them, select 30 to really look at, and then pick 15. I think students from Central are more than ready to compete against the top competitors in the nation provided they are driven and know what they are facing. Ignorance will get you nowhere.” I then discovered that he had to hound my former lit professor that was accepted at University of Miami to teach and work on his PhD in literature. He made me laugh when he told me how much he had to light a fire underneath him. “We all need that, and other professors will tell you that there is plenty of time, but there’s not if you want to excel.” I felt really motivated after speaking with him. It is incredibly intimidating to think about, but it’s better to think about it now when I can do something, rather than think I am okay and later find out I am just another mediocre writer in the world.

I have a lot of work to do as I prepare to leave for Boston next weekend. I will spend a good chunk of this weekend working on multiple things that are due while I am gone, because I wil have to turn them in early. I feel like I am doing a decent job at taking charge of my life this year. I hope it continues to stay that way.

Content

I have been feeling really good this weekend. I took a weekend to myself. I didn’t go to any parties or hang out until late. I hung out with people a bit, but spent my nights watching movies, reading, and writing for fun. It really helped relax me. I woke up at a decent time yesterday and today and I went to the library for three hours today and really made a dent in my load of homework for midterms week. I also worked out. It feels good to have some free time without homework loitering over my head. I have been feeling creative again lately, but having a hard time finding ways to release it, because I am frustrated with both poetry and prose. A cute Venezuelan guy from the band that played at Peace Song told me I should think about script writing because, “that’s where the money’s at.” I don’t think I could pull of script writing, but it might be nice to try a new genre out and release some of this rare creativity. I am writing more though, which is always nice. I don’t blog as much, because when I have time to write I feel like I waste my writing time by focusing on reality and my opinions instead of trying to weave all of it subtly and creatively into a piece of writing. I am trying to keep up with pieces, because we are now doing on-line submissions for writers group at the beginning of the month for those who can’t meet. I am the only one that has sent stuff out and only the three regulars sent back feedback. We have like twenty people in our on-line group, but very few participate. I like the core people though. I always love writers. It was the same main three who I received feedback from in person, so it feels familiar. I like working with people whose style I am familiar with. It makes it easier to take and listen to criticism. It’s like you develop a sense of trust in their suggestions and learn what to ignore and how to use their strengths.

I enjoyed going home during the middle of the week to see Adam off and observe a peace concert for World Peace Initiative. I was able to take one of my treasured walks with Adam D. while we walked the nature trail by the labyrinth, meet up and chat with Jenn on a bench at Siena in perfect weather. I also enjoyed dinner with the family Tuesday night, was able to see many fun people at a Peace Makers meeting, go to Big Boy late at night with lisa, Adam D., and Ashley (the nun), go to Big Boy early in the morning with Leslie and Beth, and ride the bike a bit. Not to mention I got to hang out with the cute band members with accents. The one from Jordan is like a pop star in his country and I saw his fan club on facebook. It has such a cute picture of him. He was a very sweet guy. I can see why everyone loves him.

I thought I was done with my weird mood courtesy of my Sylvia Plath/Anne Sexton paper being done, but my professor handed back my paper and I got a B-. I have been told he grades really tough, but he does let you resubmit it for a higher grade. It’s not even an average. I could still get an A, but he grades just as tough and said there will have to be tremendous changes that show a lot of insightful thoughts for him to make a grade higher. I am enjoying the challenge, but it is just that… a challenge. I found this Ryan Adams’ song called “Sylvia Plath” that I have enjoyed listening too because it contributes to my weird mood when I read and write about her. The paper is actually about a poem by Anne Sexton, but the poem is focused on Plath so I feel like I am studying her more than Sexton.

This Friday Elise, Drew, and Ryan from my South Dakota group are coming up to visit. The following weekend I go to Boston for an Amnesty International conference. The weekend after that Leslie and Alicia are coming up. That gives me a lot to look forward to. When that is all over the next weekend will be the second one in November! Who knows what I will have planned then, but that will have me close to Thanksgiving break. It’s amazing how the time is flying. I am off to do some “real writing” haha.

Meaningless

It is so unbelievably hot in the dorms. I can't believe it's October. It's hard for me to blog and write on my computer because it gets hot. I am surviving and staying unfortnately busy, and I am really looking forward to getting away for a few days and going home. I am procrastinating finishing my paper I entitled, "Climbing the Pyramid," about Abraham Maslow's theories of religion. I am enjoying it, because I like him so much, but I worry I am getting off topic with too much personal stuff, so i should probably look up some more facts.

Today lisa stopped by on her way to a workshop up north. It was a lovely surprise. We went to coffee, had cookies, and I showed her some writing. I miss writers group a lot. I will also get to see Chris from writers group this week at Peace Song, so it will be nice to reunite with some of them.

Today I remembered this quote while talking to lisa. It's from the movie I watched about the Beat poets with Adam. It is something along the line of, "If we love to protect us from hate, then maybe we hate to protect us from love." I really like that quote. This is a meaningless entry, but I needed to post something new.

The Pre-Drag Show

My friend, James and his roommates are in a drag show for the Gay Straight Alliance hosting "coming out week." Beth and I will be out of town for World Peace Initiative so we went to watch them practice tonight. They are dancing seductively with chairs to the song, "Cell Block Tango (He had it Coming)" from the musical Chicago. Watching four stereotypical gay guys along with two straight guys and a girl learn a dance together proved to be very entertaining.

I got a kick out of many things. One of them is the way the entire gay-straight alliance (regardless of gender or orientation) is so touchy-feely with one another. They are always all over eachother and it makes me smile. Secondly I enjoyed when my friend, Kent, was telling James that "women walk with their hips and men walk with their shoulders. So forget about your shoulders," while he tried to show James how to shake it. Another guy in a pink shirt asked if they could "gyrate on a pole" for a part of the dance. My friend, Steven pranced around gracefully and with an atitude while breaking down the dance moves slowly for others and counting loudly. He also was signing "bitch" to anyone that was talking crap. It is funny because he talks in sign language often, and is not deaf.

James is straight, but a theater major so he blends well. The other straight guy was complaining about missing the Red Wings game. I couldn't help but laugh at all of the stereotypes taking place in the room. Beth got scolded by our friend Christine for laughing while they were dancing, which made me laugh. Christine gets to play the role of all of the trashy men in the song. It will be quite a show when they are all in heels and full costumes. I am sad I will not be able to see it.

Peak Moments

I have been reflecting a lot on “peak moments.” Peak moments are what psychologist, Abraham Maslow, defined as “mystical moments of insight and feelings that include joy, peace, wonder, and a sense of wholeness, selflessness, spontaneity, and relatedness to the world.” This is the type of thing I was recently trying to articulate with Jenn, the one who is involved in the Omega project with me. She and I were talking about those rare moments in life where you have a moment that is almost out-of-body, in the sense that it is when you take a step back and think, “This moment is life at its finest. Everything is so perfect that all I can do is breathe it in and try to remember everything.” She and I both experienced three of those moments together, although we did not realize this until reflecting on them later. I said that I felt it was those perfect split seconds in life that give us the energy and drive to keep going. I loved when she said that she felt those moments were the only times we are completely our entire authentic selves. I like that idea, because we talked about this in my religion and psychology class, how no one knows entirely who is their authentic self, because we are forced to wear so many masks and different personas for different situations. If my authentic self is me in those rare moments, then I like who I am, because I am a free spirit and happy.

The most recent peak moment I had was at Wheatland music festival dancing to African drums at night carelessly and child-like along with others from my writers group underneath the beautiful starry night sky. I felt child-like and carefree just jumping around giggling underneath the stars in a crowd of free-spirits while feeling the African rhythms send adrenaline through my body. I had several peak moments while the kids from Pine Ridge were here. The ones that stick out are a moment I shared with Drew, Jenn, and Chris Iron Hawk on the sand dune looking over lake Michigan, the car ride home from Grand Rapids with Enoch, Xylena, and Jenn while we danced to “Maneater” four times in addition to other silly pop songs, like “fergalicious,” and some Beyonce number. We taped Enoch up and had a good laugh. The most perfect of them all was when we decided to take a detour in Jackson to Cascade falls. The sun was setting and were supposed to be going straight back to Jon’s house so we didn’t have much time at all. We pulled into the park and Jenn put the car in park. She said, “You guys ready? One-two-three-GO!” We all unbuckled our seatbelts, opened the car doors, slammed them shut, and sprinted to the top of the hill where Cascade Falls is located. It is quite a large hill so we were out of breath very quickly and giggling the whole way up. When we reached the fence I could hear the water from the falls and it was just dark enough to see the lights changing color. It was beautiful and the four of us sat silently listening to the water and the sound of us all trying to catch our breath. I kept thinking how I didn’t want this moment to end. It was life at its finest, but all I could do was breathe and smile.

I don’t remember having any of those last year that wasn’t tainted by the pessimistic voice in my head. I feel very fortunate to have had several recently. In my class Maslow said how rare these moments, are but how one percent of the people (such as Mother Theresa, the saints, Einstein, and other great people) have these moments often and/or huge ones that change their lives and motivate them to greatness. He claims it is when a person has become self-actualized by fulfilling all of their needs he includes on his famous pyramid of needs. These moments are the same thing as religious experiences, but he claims they are purely natural phenomenons that are independent of religion. This gave me hope, because Maslow was not against religious experiences but he didn’t think they were necessary to be great, happy, and feel a sense of oneness. I feel like I am becoming much more self-actualized and spiritually comfortable. I have bad days like everyone else and forget any progress I’ve made, but I am doing really well spiritually. I am looking forward to a workshop I am going to this Thursday evening called “Centering and Positive Energies.” I am really into that kind of thing and it is hard to stay on track alone so I am hoping to find some positive encouragement. I get that a lot at home, but it is much harder to find here at school.

I e-mailed Jenn after this class where I learned about peak moments, and she thought this was exactly what we both had been trying to articulate and that is why she doesn’t like using lablels for them, and she said she didn’t think they have to be all that rare. She said, "With open eyes, there is so much to see and feel." It amazes me how she loves life. I think Jenn is pretty self-actualized herself. She is a great person to remind me that life isn’t a fairytale, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy and love life. I want to acquire wisdom and love life. I am learning…slowly, but learning.

Surprise

I got my lip pierced on Monday. This might surprise some, but it's something I always secretly wanted to do. The bright side is I can take it out whenever I decide I don't want it, and I have something fun and spontaneous to tell my kids. It didn't hurt much at all, which was a surprise. My roommate and her friend that went with me said I "took it like a champ." It happened so fast that I didn't even know what hit me to flinch or anything like that. It's a little sore today, but it's been relatively pain free except for when I wash it the soap burns it a little.

Sylvia's Death

By Anne Sexton

for Sylvia Plath


O Sylvia, Sylvia
with a dead box of stones and spoons,

with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,

with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,

(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about raising potatoes
and keeping bees?)

what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?

Thief--
how did you crawl into,

crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,

the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,

the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,

the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,

the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?

(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with OUR boy.)

O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,

how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy

to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall of a crib,

and since that time he waited
under our hear, our cupboard,

and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides

and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,

(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with OUR boy.)

And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,

what is your death
but an old belonging,

a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?

(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wits end
the bar fly ought to sing!)

O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!

Febraury 17, 1963

Crazy Poets

I have come to appreciate poetry in the past six months. I always liked writing it to some degree, but it has never been my strength. Trying to read poetry was even more difficult for me. After being introduced to poetry on the college level in my Intro to lit class last April, I am now learning about it on a deeper level in my Literary analysis classes. It is strange, because I am using the same book as my last literature class and reading many of the same poems, but they continue to get better with every read, because they are so complex. We can easily spend one class period on one poem (We have done it once or twice), but due to time restrictions we try to dabble in two to three poems per class. I am preparing to do a short paper on a poem and after rereading Sylvia Plath's mirror and hearing her friend, Anne Sexton mentioned in the movie I just watched, Running With Scissors, I decided to look up some information about both poets. I plan to pick one of their poems to do my paper on. I found this heartbreaking article from our on-line library. It totally changed my high-school ideas about these "boring poets" we had to learn about and try to write papers about. I am amazed at how all of the famous poets seem to be connected with other poets and were inspired by many of the same poets.

In high school we had to pick a modern poet to do a paper on. I chose James Wright. Lisa still makes fun of me, because I told her I didn't like nature poetry. I thought it was boring. I asked her to help me analyze some of Wright's poems that I liked, and she laughed and told me they were all about nature. I remember her telling me that her son chose to do his on Sylvia Plath, which concerned her because he was depressed. I asked why the concern and she explained Plath's dark poetry and eventual suicide. The name stuck with me. In my report I learned James Wright had an affair with Anne Sexton. Anne Sexton and Plath were close competitors and friends.

This article is focusing on a particular mental hospital in Boston. The hospital has inspired many forms of literature. The author of the book "Girl, Interrupted" gained her experiences at this hospital. Plath first entered the hospital in her senior year in college due to severe suicidal depression. She had struggled with depression on and off all through college, and after a couple attempts to kill herself they sent her for help. They gave Plath isulin shock treatment. It has a quote from her doctor talking about her depression in retrospect that says, "She was totally depressed, and she wasn't getting any better." They eventually decided on electroshock therapy, despite Plath already having some bad experiences with it that had caused one suicide attempt. After three shock treatments she was well enough to be released. Then the poor mental health of Robert Lowell and Ezra Pound. I remember Ezra Pound from my freshman year poetry anthlology. I can still recite the poem by memory, although I don't remember the title.

The article gets more and more heartbreaking as they begin to talk about Anne Sexton's depression, suicide attempts, and recovery that sounds so promising. She was teaching poetry at the mental hospital inspiring many mentally ill patients to write. One of the former patients said she was, "very pretty and very nervous." A former patient, Eleanor Morris', account of her suicide is painful even to read,

"Morris still remember being awakend by her clock radio on Saturday, October 5th, 1974. A newsreader announced that the poet Anne Sexton had died. 'It just said she had died, but I knew she had committed suicide, and I spent the whole moring crying[...] Morris still has an autographed book of hers called, "Live or Die," and Sexton signed it-- 'My derective is LIVE--to Ellie'."

When the article describes their friendship it mentions how competitive and similar they were. They both would drink martinis in Boston and reminisce about suicide attempts, and they saw themselves as "future suicides." Plath ended her life in 1963, inspiring Sexton's poem above, Sylvia's Death. Reading this poem and understanding that Sexton then committed suicide 11 years later, I can't believe I thought these were just boring poets at one point. The idea that they had to live with suicidal depression for the majority of their lives makes them heart-felt tragedies.

It just goes to show me that getting published and being so great as to be in a high-school English book does not make a life worth living. Nothng can do that for anyone. You have to do it yourself.

Happy Wheatland

I attended Wheatland music festival (my first overnight festival) this weekend. It was a fantastic experience. Everyone was so happy and with all of the great weather and music, the joy was contagious. The group I went with was wonderful. It was like a cute little family with a broad age range. I was the youngest of the group at nineteen and then the oldest in our group was in his fifties. The whole festival is amazing, because it unites people of so many different generations. There are kids activities with lots of free-spirited kids, and there are many free-spirited souls well over sixty. Then there are the people in between who are free spirits for the weekend, because they are allowed to be, but it is clear they are getting ready to go home to stress and be drained of their joy when everyone packs up sadly on Sunday, saying goodbye and “Happy Wheatland” for one last time. It was all a fun, but my favorite memory is from Friday night. It had just down poured for a moment so we were all wet and a little chilly, but the sky was perfectly clear with the exception of a few light clouds that looked like smoke making interesting designs in the sky. An African drum group was playing and it was moving. Lisa and Rebecca hollered for me to join them on the dance floor. I have no idea how to dance to African drumbeats, but no one cares at Wheatland. I joined them on the dance floor where we jumped and danced freely. I warmed up to the point where I was sweating and I would take moments to look up and catch my breath. It was one of those rare moments where I think to myself, “This is life at its finest. I’m happy to be alive.” I had several of those this summer and I am truly thankful for that, because I went without those split seconds for far too long. I think that is why we live, for those split seconds of perfection and joy. They are so energizing and it gives us the hope to keep going until the next one. That’s what life’s about.

At Wheatland I talked with Rebecca about how she likes Michigan (She moved here from Connecticut in January). She talked about struggling with meeting new people and finding happiness. When she was telling me this, I felt like she was describing my exact struggle with moving away to college. It just reminded me what a hard time I have understanding loneliness, because if everyone feels it, even when they are so loved, then how can we feel alone? It is so strange, because we are all so similar. I think it’s easy to forget that with all of the fronts and masks people have.

Today it’s raining and I feel melancholy. I think it is because I didn’t sleep much this weekend and I came back to a lot of homework today. I also have this theory that things always balance themselves out. Whenever I have a great day I have this fear of a bad day coming up. I need to change my thought process; because when I have a bad day I am much less apt to think, “I bet I’m going to have a great day tomorrow.” It seems one-sided of me. I also noticed today how judgmental I am of myself. Some of the people from the group involved with the South Dakota project pointed that out to me and I thought they were being too gentle with me, but it’s true I am so hard on myself. I still have that need to be a Saint that was burned in my head somewhere along the line, which only leads to disappointment on a regular basis. It’s really self-centered of me. No one thinks about me that much to be judging everything I say. The people who do have plenty of issues of their own, but yet I still let their negative judgments dictate how I judge myself. It’s all about guilt. Guilt. GUILT. It’s such a useless emotion that seems to represent everything wrong with my life. I suppose it is good that I can pinpoint the root of my struggles. That might be better than many, but I feel like I should be able to control it now that I am so aware of it, but awareness does not make it easier. I feel like I matured so much in my ability to stop and say, “Okay, I am feeling guilty. Is this a valid reason for feeling bad about myself? Did I do anything harmful or hurtful to anyone? “ I would say 90% of the time the answer is no. I am not saying that I don’t do things to feel guilty about, but I know I feel far too much guilt for trivial things. It just reminds me of my immaturity when I can’t control it. I talked with lisa about this frustration with not being able to control problems I am aware of. I commented on how I could see flaws in people older than me and know what they needed to change, but that didn’t stop me from going through the same struggles. Knowing about them didn’t help me avoid them or make them any easier. She claimed that’s what compassion is: hearing other people’s struggles and understanding it could or will be you if it hasn’t already been you. I thought that was a very insightful statement. I don’t know that my summary of it does it justice, but it was probably the best definition of compassion I have heard, and it is also a reminder of compassion I need to show myself.

I am glad it has cooled off so I am no longer sweating in minimal clothing in my dorm room avoiding my hot laptop at all costs. I hope to blog a little more regularly now, but it does get busy up here. I have my first meeting for the Amnesty International club branch here at school tonight. I think I will be meeting more socially aware people, maybe even making

Agh Kittens

This picture was taken at 7am Saturday morning (So I'm not looking my best) after this trouble maker decided to wake me up by walking on my face, gnawing on my ears, and snapping my bracelet. I would have been angry had she not been so cute.






P.S. My computer gets hot when I am on it too long and it has been far too hot to blog. I will get better when it cools off.

Objectivity

In my Literary Analysis class my professor asked in his cute British accent, “What are some of the stereotypes about English majors?” No one raised their hands. He then asked, “Who is not an English major in here?” and three people raised their hands. He asked them the stereotypes, and their answers were things like, “pompous, nerdy, bookworms, slackers.” This made me laugh, because when he first asked the question my initial thought was, “English majors don’t have stereotypes. That’s just the engineering and Bio students.”

In my Religion and Psychology class, my professor was giving theories for the existence of religion and its origin. He gave many educated theories and then gave a fourth one, “religion exists because it’s true.” My first reaction was anger. I felt like adding that to our notes discredited everything we just learned. Sure, there were holes in each theory, but this didn’t explain anything. He then explained, “This theory is not treated as a valid theory, but a majority of people believe this. 97.5% of the world believes in some sort of divinity. Does that make 97.5% of the population crazy and the other small percentage sane?” He wants the course to be all about objectivity, which I suppose means hearing things that I don’t want to about close-minded ideas of religion. He also said a lot of religious people think he is the antichrist so he gets hell from both sides. I like that about him.

These two scenarios got me thinking about how no one is ever objective. I think people are close-minded who do not listen to my ideas, but what about when I don’t listen to theirs? It takes a great deal of patience and comfort with ones beliefs to truly listen without anger to other people’s beliefs. I have had a lot of anger at belief systems in the past year. The more I learn about religion in general the more I realize I don’t believe in one religion. They are just different forms of expressing the same spirituality that exists in everyone. I also am beginning to realize I can’t discredit people’s spiritual experiences as much as I want to. I almost want to delete this paragraph, because it is so hard to do this stuff that I don’t even want to acknowledge that I have to do it let alone that I am not good at it. When I had to listen to the crazy, shouting, Christian outside the academic buildings today, and he was calling everyone fools and using the Bible to support him, I so desperately wanted to flip him off or roll my eyes. Then I realized that he feeds off of that kind of thing. The best thing to do is let those people say what they want to, because they will do it anyway. Let them pray for you or condemn you (whatever it is they do) because it makes them feel better and in reality it doesn’t do shit to me. I just let my pride get hurt by that kind of thing, but if I were stronger in my beliefs I wouldn’t be phased by it. I think I am slowly acquiring that strength. I attribute that to the healing and maturing that took place this summer as a result of having such a variety of loving people in my life.

We also talked about a theory that gods are just idealized versions of an actual human being, especially in Greek mythology. Then he said, but it happens in every religion. The Buddha was just a man, Siddhārtha Gautama, but many Buddhist believe he was more than an ordinary man, even somewhat divine. Then as all of the self-righteous Christians thought they were free from ridicule, he brought up the Virgin Mary. He was like, “Mary was just a woman, but the church decided one day that they had a problem and Jesus’ birth needed to be “sinless” so they decided he was immaculately concepted. Many people are very offended by the thought of that, but does that discredit any of the peaceful things Jesus did because his Mom had sex to conceive him?

I was especially interested in this idealizing people, because Adam (The Atheist) and I were recently discussing his post that claimed Mother Theresa was using the poor for her own personal gain. I talked about how Mother Theresa was human. Humans do bad things sometimes. It sucks. I wish I didn’t. I wish the people I love didn’t, but everyone does. Regardless of her motives she did great things. I think she is just as worthy as any of the other Saints. Saints were all human at one point, but their lives have been idealized to make them seem unreachable for anyone. Mother Theresa’s flaws will soon be forgotten and she will be another Saint that we will never be able to be like. I blame a lot of my self-hate on the Saints. I loved learning about the Saints and it was my dream to be like them, but it is impossible because as Saints they are not human. The more I realize that I don’t really know the saints, the more I understand that I could be like them if I really knew them, but now there is nothing real to be like. Trying to be a Saint is like trying to be Jesus or some idea of God. The Saints all did good things and stood up against the church or people that had power, and that is commendable. It takes guts and not everyone can do it, but it is possible for anyone unlike the church teaches. I think exposing Mother Theresa’s flaws is a great reminder for the world to reevaluate the image of a Saint. We should all admire their courage, but not deny their faults. Let’s celebrate their life not some made-up fantasy.

blah.

This year is going to be better. I can tell for many reasons. I am not depressed, I know more people, I know my way around, and I am used to being away from home. I am still feeling lonely though, because I was so fortunate this summer. I had so many friends old and new around every day. It’s not a depressing loneliness, because it is more of me sitting alone and reflecting on what great memories I have from this summer. I miss everyone tremendously. I really got used to being in a group after my week with the people from Pine Ridge and here. It’s strange not being in an environment where I am surrounded by people. I have actually had a lot of great reflection time alone, which I was in need of with it being so hard to come by at home.

Classes started up today and I am especially looking forward to my Religion and Psychology class. My professor has written a book called, “Minds and Gods,” he studies cognitive science and from what I have read thus far he is brilliant. I knew he was a great professor, because I had him last semester, but this book is fantastic and I am excited to learn about it from him in person. In his book he talks about how religion is taken as some “special form of thinking” that is different from any other thought processes. He makes it clear that the mind is amazing in every sense and that religion is no different than any of the other amazing things the minds does, so in that case he asks why can’t we study why our minds think about religion and deities. He warned it is a secular view, but that even if one disagrees he says you will learn so much about yourself, because it is all about our minds and how they work. I think it will be a fantastic class that I can apply to my everyday life.

I don’t have a particular topic to blog about, but I do want to let everyone from the Omega group who has started reading this (or been reading it in Ryan’s case) how much I miss our group and the feeling of love from everyone. I knew it was special when I was in the moment, but the whole overused expression of “you don’t know what you got until it’s gone,” has once again proved itself true, because I didn’t realize just how special and amazing it was until I have had all of this time to myself to realize how much I miss everyone.

I am hoping to bring all of the ways I grew over the summer up to school with me, which is pretty hard considering the few friends I do have up here are not very interested in my growth. I am excited to meet with a couple of different people up here that I know will appreciate my growth and encourage it. They are both older though so I guess they aren’t threatened by change and can encourage me to keep evolving, while it might scare people who rely on me for security if I am not so sturdy and rocking the boat a bit myself.

I feel like this is a boring blog entry, so I guess I will stop and try to do a better one soon. I should put more thought into it, but I am tired and my computer is hot, which is making me sweat.

Miracles Happen.

I almost don’t want to blog honestly about what I experienced the past five days, because I worry people will discredit or not understand such a powerful experience. I have to share the goodness though, even if it hurts for people to put it down. Twelve people from Pine Ridge (The reservation I have traveled to three times to do service work) came to Michigan to learn what it is like off of the reservation. The reservation is like a third-world country right in the middle of the U.S. There are homes without running water. The water is not always safe to drink. Unemployment AND alcoholism are both above a crazy 80% of the population there. Two of the poorest counties in the nation are on the reservation. Gang violence is a serious problem and domestic violence is most prevalent there. I have been touched every time I went and met more kids there. Each time I met innocent kids thrown into terrible circumstances. This week was a totally new experience that was more powerful than any of my trips there (which is saying a lot!).

I met the kids Thursday evening at a barbeque. I had no idea that I would love these kids just as much as anyone else I love in my life before they left, just five days later. We did and experienced far too many things to write about, but I will write some of the most important ones. Sunday night we spent the night all sleeping on a gym floor in a church. We stayed up until 2:30 (at least) having one of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my life. I don’t even know if I believe in prayer to a deity, but this prayer turned into such an intense experience of human connection. Jon said he felt there was someone in the group that really needed us to “lift them up in prayer.” We all seemed pretty collected, because we do that so often. Then Jon said, “I mean we are going to literally, physically lift them up in prayer.” I honestly thought Jon was being ridiculous, because there were some people much bigger than most of us. I also was thinking, “who is going to admit so desperately needing help?” I thought there would be all of this awkward standing until someone came forward, but instantly JoDon, one of the 17-year-old guys from the reservation stepped forward and laid on his stomach with his face in his arm, clearly upset about something. Jon asked him if he wanted to talk about it or just be lifted, and he said lifted. We lifted him over our heads as a group. Enoch whispered a prayer aloud in his native tongue, which seemed much more powerful than any prayer I have ever heard. The rest of us thought or prayed positive things for this boy. JoDon became shaken up and began crying and praying in his native tongue from above us. When we set him down slowly, he lay on the ground sobbing and the rest of us lent him a hand or gave him a hug. One of the group members held him in her arms. Jon asked if there was anyone else…and then anyone else… and eventually almost everyone was lifted up above the group, despite our arms shaking from exhaustion, and every single person wept in the arms of people from the group. I will never forget the chills I got when one of the boys, Chris, was up there. He is thirteen and victim of abuse, self-destructive, and done many drugs. He has no one to really take care of him. He has such a “hard” protective image. Up above us he kept fighting himself and tears, but Jon told him we were there for him and we didn’t want him to have to hurt anymore. He sobbed up above us until we set him gently on the ground. He rolled over to his stomach and sobbed in his arms. The group extended hands and kisses. It was the most incredible bonding experience I have ever had with people, and the weird thing is that we didn’t tell each other at all what we were crying about or what we were struggling with. It was just the connection of pain and healing together.

The next day at the dunes and Lake MI, I had a great bonding time with my friend Drew and a woman I just met, named Jenn. We climbed the sand dune together and talked honestly about beliefs. J.J (one of the smaller boys) came to the top with Chris, because Chris had been hiding food up there for himself. Jenn invited Chris over and began to talk with him about his life on the Reservation. She asked him about his recent move to escape his abusive grandfather and how good his new school was. She asked him about gangs and drugs. He said he tried every drug once, but didn’t want to do that anymore. He said he used to drink a lot, but was sick of seeing so many drunks around. He said now he just smokes cigarettes. He then told us about the scars two of the other boys had, and how they were from their gangs. One of them had a cross-type symbol burned into his arm for his gang and the other one had a strange “A” looking thing cut onto his back as well as a circular scar on his arm that I cannot describe. This boy then told us that everyone is in a gang. Jenn asked him how he stays away from it, and he said he stays inside all of the time. She asked, “Don’t you get lonely?” and he answered, “Yeah, it’s real lonely, but I don’t wanna be in no gang.” Drew and I sat in complete silence burying things in the sand. Chris randomly left us and walked down the dune without saying goodbye. After he left Drew, Jenn, and I sat in silence for over a minute until Jen said while throwing a twig, “What are you supposed to do with that?” Drew and I shrugged silently and Jenn had tears in her eyes. J.J. was still up there digging away insanely like a dog. Drew and I got out our cameras to take a picture of him and Jenn said, “That is pure innocence,” because the kid was oblivious to what has just gone on. We all laughed. The picture I took of that moment has Elise (who walked up in the middle of Jenn and Chris’ conversation) crying off to the side and J.J. looking like Tarzan digging away crazily. It is such a beautiful picture.

That night we got home and were all so exhausted so we were supposed to have a short night reflection. It started at 10:45 and we wanted to be done by 11:30. We didn’t get done until 1:30, because we did an activity where we rotated around and held hands with each person and looked into their eyes for a minute before saying something deep and nice about them. It meant that each person said something nice to everyone. Everyone was crying, because we realized how much we loved each other. We all said, “I love you” to each other, which may sound cheesy or overdone, but it was real. I have never loved anyone more than I love these kids. I love them like family and it was mutual. We also did a talking circle where we passed an object around and when a person was passed the object they spoke to the group. The confessions and thanks that everyone said were life changing.

I loved everyone and was touched by everyone, but three of the boys, Chris, Enoch, and JoDon really broke my heart when they left. JoDon is the one that especially got to me. He is returning only to leave his home to escape the gang he is in. He told me I was now his big sister and he loved me. He is such a beautiful person. He is so strong and smart. He has sun danced more than once, which is dancing while connected to a tree by something that is pierced through him. They dance for four days without food or water until the pierced object is ripped out. He stayed up until 5am the last night writing a poem that he showed Elise and me before he left. It was about how he had found love for the first time in his life with our group and had to leave it. That last morning at breakfast, he and I sat next to each other drinking tea in silence. We were both clearly upset, but unable to say much besides small talk. I finally said, “I feel like there is so much I want to say, but I can’t say anything.” He smiled with sad eyes in agreement. I then said, “Maybe saying nothing can mean just as much as words sometimes.” He said, “Exactly, but I wish I knew how to say it all.” We smiled and then looked down and sipped our tea. It was one of the most bittersweet moments of my life. Enoch is returning to go to court and most likely-jail for a DUI that he didn’t pull over very quickly for. He is the sweetest kid. He just doesn’t have a support system. Jenn told him if he couldn’t stay out of trouble he could come live with her. He seemed so relieved to know he had a way to get away from it all. Saying goodbye to them in the airport was like the end of some sad Disney movie. We all waved and waved until we couldn’t see each other anymore. JoDon pointed to his heart and then to me while walking away. I returned the gesture. Jenn, Drew, and I blew kisses at Kimmy before she walked through the metal detector. Chris prepared to walk through the metal detector when Jenn shouted, “Iron Hawk!” he turned, and she pointed to him and said, “Don’t forget!” He laughed and then walked through security away from our sight. Jenn, Drew, and Elise were crying while I stood with that depressing rock feeling in my stomach. Drew then laughed and said, “Jenn, that sounded like the ending to a movie. ‘IronHawk, don’t forget!” We all giggled and agreed it was one of the coolest quotes ever and that we had to write a movie that had that for an ending.

Today Drew, Elise, and I went together to develop pictures. We scrap booked while listening to depressing songs that reminded us of all of this past week. Elise told us that Jon told her when the kids arrived back in S. Dakota only one of the girl’s dad’s was there. No one came to pick up the rest of the kids. What a terrible slap in the face of a cold-world. I mourn for them, but am so thankful that these kids know they are loved. I will do whatever it takes to go back to S. Dakota to see them. It is like Jon told me, “These kids do not trust, and they trust us! They do not know love like this, and they love us! We cannot let them down. We must do everything in our power to make sure we keep this love, because we owe that to them.” He is so right. These kids are so beautiful and bright. They can change the world if given the tools and support. I will never forget my love for them. Many people will argue that it will fade and this was some crazy love high, but they are wrong. I was not lying when I told JoDon that he will be in my heart until I die. I was not lying when I told Enoch I love him just as much as any of my friends or family that has been with me my whole life, and I was not lying when I told any of them that I love them and will do anything I have to in order to see them again. In Lakota there is no word for goodbye, because they always say, “Until I see you again.” I will see them again. That night we spent at the church we did a “get to know each other activity” that had us ask our partners if we believed in miracles. I said no and so did many others, but we all agreed before we left that this experience was nothing but a miracle. Miracles do happen. I don’t care what anyone says. It’s not even an argument about the existence of divinity, but it is the miracle of love. Take from that whatever you want. Mitakuye Oyasin (All my relations, meaning we are all related).

Seeking Truth in Writing

This morning I went to lisa’s to get some help on writing. I have some great ideas for poems and stories, but I am having trouble writing much lately. She said I am telling how I feel instead of making the readers feel what I want them to. We agreed that my problem is that I am afraid to write what I see as truth. She explained the truth is not some flattering poem about how perfect everything is, but instead it is messy and it can hurt me or other people. I expressed my concern of hurting people I love or feeling like I am not appreciating people. We discussed what loving someone means. I have many friends and family that I love, but that does not mean they are perfect. I can’t write about all of the people I love and make them like saints. Real writers have to get beyond the idea that someone will read what they say and be hurt. The truth hurts, but it is always only one writers truth, and what else is there besides truth? Today I walked with my friend Adam on some woodsy trails. We sat in a clearing and talked for hours. He was concerned of offending me, but said, “I think you are a good writer, but I worry that you are too nice to be a great one.” I respect that kind of truth. I agreed he was right in the sense that I care too much what people think, and instead of writing what I want to I sugar-coat things. All of the authors that I love are incredibly blunt and spare no one, especially not themselves. That is what makes them so brilliant. Anne Lamott does not allow for anyone to think she is some Saintly prophet for even a minute. I will never forget my reaction to the first book of hers that I read. There was a part where she said something about how she loses her cool. She talked about getting frustrated with her son when he was younger for not listening to her over the TV after several times of her repeating himself. She then says, “I told him to turn that TV off, as in ‘turn that goddamn fucking tv off’.” She then talks about feeling bad about her loss of control and then taking a walk to really think things through. When I was talking to a friend about Anne Lamott we talked about her amazing ability to write about all of the messy truth that is out there. We joked that she would have nothing to write about soon, because she has already revealed so much of herself and the people she loves. Humans are so complex, yet similar that there will always be new truth and stories to be written.

I thought that I had reached a point of honesty in my writing as I began writing about things that I considered to be personal, but it was always at my own risk. I still have not conquered the ability to write truth about loved ones. I was able to write stories about my roommates, because although I cared about them as people, I never loved them. It is hard to write all of the truth about people I love, because I don’t want other people to judge them. I have to leave it up to my readers on how to judge them. A good writer can make the reader feel a particular way about everyone, even after they include all of their good and bad truths.

In order to finish this short poem I am working on, lisa suggested I do all of this journaling and writing about what exact events I am trying to capture, instead of just telling people how to feel. It blows my mind how people do not realize the work that is involved in all types of writing. For one short poem, I will probably have to write pages and pages to get to the truth and underlying point I want to make. When I went to coffee with a friend that writes songs yesterday, we talked about how writing is similar to meditation. Both take a tremendous amount of discipline and are spiritual things that involve trying to focus and control the mind.

Reflection: Balance, Moderation, and Centeredness

Today I listened to a Speaking of Faith Episode that was played a few weeks ago, which is a replay from last year. It is titled “Stress and Balance Within.” I hadn’t thought much about balance on the spiritual level until this year. This summer it has been one of my main topics to reflect on along with being centered and moderation. I had never even heard of balance on a spiritual level or thought about being centered and using moderation with everything, but this year it seems everyone that I talk about spirituality with brought these essential topics up at some point, if not multiple times. When I was doing a career counseling activity with someone I know who is trying to get a masters in counseling, he picked up on my lack of balance. When he suggested I think about teaching, because of my love for kids I responded with two reasons why I didn’t want to teach. My first reason was that I thought the track to teaching was much too straight forward for my indecisive ways. Secondly I told him that I did not want to lose my love for kids by getting burned out. I enjoy the six-week program I work in every summer, because right around the time I feel drained from the kids it’s already the last week or two of school and then I appreciate them again, because I realize I won’t see them for a long time.

His response was that he understood from the forms and questionnaires I filled out that one of my “career anchors” (Something that is necessary in a career for me to be happy) was “lifestyle.” He explained that means that I will have to have a career that goes with my lifestyle and not lifestyle based on my career, but he also questioned me about having commitment issues (if he only knew). He also expressed concern at my second reason. He asked if I get burned out, because I do not have the proper training to teach. I responded with how busy my mom always is and he decided that I have balance issues. I began reflecting on my current lifestyle and I realized my entire family has issues with balance. My mom has problems balancing work and her life so I feel that while the students benefit from this, her health suffers either physically or mentally. My dad has problems balancing money…not in the literal sense. He balances a checkbook fabulously. I mean that he saves and complains about how tight money is, but then splurges…only to stay up all night worrying about it and growing angry at the way the rest of us spend money. I am not blaming my balance issues on my parents, but the aspiring counselor thought that I had never properly learned balance. I also think about my siblings’ lifestyles in contrast with my own, and although we are all very different I do not see much balance from any of us.

Dr. Esther Sternberg spoke on this podcast of Speaking of Faith. She works on the mind-body connection from a molecular level by looking at genes, hormones, and neurotransmitters. She is using science to show the connection between emotions and health. She talks about how vacations are not a luxury, but a necessity. As a society we do not encourage balance. Cell phones are almost a necessity and weekends are rarely times of rest these days, to name a few examples of our off-centered lifestyles. Not to mention the way people look at me like I am crazy when I mention taking a night to reflect alone. It’s like Adam (the atheist) said when we were talking about the way people do not understand introverts. When you tell someone you want to spend some time alone they take it personally and are confused like, “So do you just wanna take a shit or what more do you need to do alone?”

I learned the hard way what ignoring myself for the sake of others does to a person and this podcast only confirmed the need for balance in my life. The fact that my imbalance was just illuminated by someone else this week makes me feel confident about all of the time I have been spending as a hermit. I think everyone should take some time to really think things through.

Piercing Apathy

I walk in broken streets with broken souls and tourists
wearing happy faces and college sweatshirts. I hate this place.
New Orleans is too damn cold. I close my eyes, but can’t ignore
the memory of tortured screaming souls crying atop floating houses.
It slaps me in the face with undeserved suffering.
I see her crying alone. She wipes Her tears on Her
sleeves and avoids My eyes. She walks fast and determined,
like Me. Her sandy hair is like Mine too. It could hide traces of the
sun if she saw it, if we saw it. We prefer the moon. It does not burn.

She disappears in a crowd of meaningless faces. I hope for her safety, even though
I don’t remember what hope is. The hours escape without letting me grasp them.
I find her in a t-shirt shop. Her gray sweater hangs off her shoulders like Mine.
At home, My despair paralyzes my mother. Here, Her despair paralyzes Me. I want to
die and she is dead. Empathy forces a smile at her. She walks toward me. Her request is small,
but the alcohol she breathes makes my burning stomach turn. I hand her my cell phone.
My fear distracts me from the moment when Her hand and My hand Connect. She
hangs up after no Connection. Vulnerability floods out her pores the way floods
poured out her soul into the ocean. She looks around desperate and scared like Me.

She asks for the time, but looks to her watch. She looks at her left wrist.
I look at her left hand. It’s swollen like an inflated rubber glove, but there is
no doctor to bring her back to life. My heart races in fear for Her, for Me.
My blood turns cold as hatred flows through it. Hatred for the cold world,
hatred for what she has done, but mostly hate for myself, because I know that
immobilizing darkness she lives in. It is blacker than the blood that has broken
inside of her hand. She is hopeless like Me. We are no longer Beautiful.
I am naïve. I do not know heroin like Her and she does not know
heroines like Me. She might have in brighter days, before depression killed her soul.

I try not to imagine her first shot, but see a young girl unable to
cope with a broken heart and broken dreams. Her arm shakes from fear;
she pierces the needle into her skin. She is anxious to fly, even with broken wings.
My mind hurls dark images at me, darker than the blood broken inside her hand.
The blood that hurts for it’s fix, it’s relief. I try not to see her lying lifeless in a
dirty room. When Her weak arm betrays her, she jabs the relief into her thigh. I hate this
place. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see this. I close my eyes, but can’t help
but see her shaking, sweating, moaning cries of death in a dark alley. It is darker than
the blood that has broken inside her hand from when her veins refused to take that
poison. She stabs relief between each finger. I stare at Her hands. The
hand she pierces with is small, like Mine. I need to vomit like she did last night.
Tangled, sticky hair reminds her of the suffering and tears she does not remember.

I am scared. I Disconnect, Detest, Dehumanize, like People who live in fear.
“I hope it all works out for you,” I say. She smiles a hopeless smile
like the one I have forced too many times. She is genuine, thankful,
and human. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to act. I swallow vomit.
It hurts, but I will not let it out. I will not let it out. She is broken and
dead; I am broken and living. How can I pretend not to know her? We are related by
blood; we both bleed red. I know everything, but love her like family.

I pretend not to notice the connection. I laugh when my friend says, “crazy druggie.”
I laugh until I cry, since I can’t cry any other way. I wipe My tears with My sleeves.

The Gray Area of Faith (Adam the atheist and Adam the priest)

Recently I was talking to lisa about attending Peace Day in the Park. I told her I would be attending with Adam. She responded with, “Adam the atheist or Adam the priest?” which of course made me giggle considering how black and white that made it sound. While talking to Adam (the atheist) this evening we were discussing the spiritual views of Karen Armstrong the ex-nun who is now a religious scholar and no longer religious. He asked if she was an atheist, but I responded with “Well, I don’t know that she believes in God per se, but I think she is still spiritual. I can’t really tell, because once you leave organized religion it all gets to be a gray area.” I began thinking about religion and spirituality as a whole after this conversation. My initial response was that the religious spectrum could be similar to the scale used in psychology about sexual orientation, where very few are entirely gay or straight or exactly in the middle. Most of us lean one way from somewhere in the middle. I thought about my brother who is atheist and believes that everyone should be and compared him with the regular attending “church people” who believe that everyone should be like them. I realized that beliefs are all a gray area, because it is so complex. I feel like everyone judges faith and people in general on one question, “Do you or don’t you believe in God.” Everyone has different ideas of God. Some individuals' God hates other people who believe in the “same God.” I don’t think this praising of a higher power can be summed up in one three-letter word.

My friend, Adam (the [aspiring] priest) once told me a story that I believe came from Buddhism. The story was something about how 3 blind men come across an elephant. One man has a hold of the leg; another has a hold of the trunk, while the other has a hold of the tail. Each man describes what he feels. Each man’s description is different and missing the big picture of the elephant, but that does not mean he is not describing the elephant. He claims that is what religions do. They each describe pieces of truth that they can cling on to, but no one will ever see the whole elephant, because we are all blindfolded.

I feel so restricted spiritually. I feel like I could just fly if someone would unchain me, but everyone is afraid of where I might fly. I once talked with April about how despite everyone’s fronts of having strong faiths, we are all so vulnerable and feel better to know we have support. That is why everyone pretends to care about your belief system and feels offended when you disagree with his or hers. There are very few people in the world who will accept you for your beliefs alone when you do not adhere to a particular label. They all want you to see their truth, which isn’t necessarily the truth you are seeking. Everyone can talk religion and their beliefs, but I know very few people who live it. The people who seem to live it the most are usually the ones who are open with the fact that they can’t live their faith at all times. The people who I feel most spiritual with are the ones who are exceptionally self-aware by realizing their weaknesses and accepting them (whether they believe in God or not). That is an incredibly difficult task, and while everyone (myself included) can claim to be accepting of his or her faults I find that not to be the case. That kind of acceptance takes a lot of meditation, mindfulness, and maturity, which is scorned upon in our technological society. My friends get upset when I want to spend a night to myself, just sitting outside. I feel self-conscious when people see me sitting alone outside, doing nothing. I always have the protection of my ipod, computer, or phone around just like everyone else to let people know "I have stuff to do. I am important." I find the more I sit outside alone the more at peace I feel, but the more isolated I feel when I am with my friends and other people my age.

I believe the reason that I am feeling spiritually dead is because I am undergoing a big transformation that will be beneficial in the long run. I find that I feel a lot less instances of paranoia that someone is watching me or judging my thoughts, but a lot more moments of peace and self-acceptance. I read a lot of spiritual books still, so I know that there has to be something in me that seeks more than anything I have ever come across spiritually. I have many mentors on every aspect of the belief system and as helpful as they all are, I don’t like the way most of them don’t entirely support my beliefs if they are different than their own.. I feel frustrated, because I feel that I am supportive of most people’s belief systems, but very few are supportive of mine. I have many people that “tolerate” my beliefs, but I think that should be a given. I am okay where I am at, which could be a first. I don’t feel like I need to change anything about where I am at, and that makes me feel good. Maybe maturity is not so far away.