It's winter.
I know that seems kind of obvious--especially with the snow on the ground & the temperature being in the 20s--but it sneaks up on me every year.
And every year I struggle with my love/hate for this season. I usually enjoy the outdoors--for most of the year I would rather eat lunch in the open hatchback of my car than just about anywhere else. But this particular season evokes such strong & conflicting feelings...
I hate being cold.
I love getting to bundle up in the hats & scarves & coats & boots.
I hate that it gets so dark, and so early!
I love how vivid the stars appear in the wintry night sky.
I hate how scary driving gets in this weather.
I love the snowball fights.
I hate scraping the car off anytime I leave it alone for too long.
I love how awake & alive the bracing air makes me feel.
I hate how it gets so cold that just breathing is painful.
I love cuddling with Husband under warm blankets.
I hate the almost-constant grey skies.
I love the muffled silence that comes with every snowfall.
I hate how long it takes my car to warm up.
I love the warm drinks that heat me up after being frozen outside.
I hate the cold winds--"windchill" is an evil abomination created by Satan.
I love how everything looks so much more beautiful with a layer of snow on it.
I hate how dried-out my lips & skin get.
I love getting to experience winter & Christmas & snow as a married gal for the first time ever... getting to see all this with him has been amazing.
I am looking forward to Spring, as I do every year. Had I been born pre-Christ, I very likely would have been a sun-worshiper...
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Friday, December 6, 2013
Apathy
Passion is contagious.
So is apathy.
The older I get, the more I realize the truth of the old caution: be careful who you surround yourself with.
It's not because of fear of "guilt by association", but fear of something much less obvious, far more... sinister.
The attitudes of those around me can very easily become my attitude.
Is this why Jesus was so vehement in His decrying of the Lukewarm church in Revelation?
Not only was this church neither cold nor hot, but their apathy was a poison that--left unchecked--could contaminate all the passion around them, the passion of new believers coming to this church would be soured and quenched.
Personally, I tend to be a bit... extreme... in the things I do. I like to throw myself whole-heartedly into life and all therein. But if I lose that excitement, then I swing very much the other direction & I become very difficult to motivate. I do nothing half-way, including apathy--which is why I hate it so much when I find it in myself.
Whenever I realize I've slid into that mentality again... It makes me so angry. Oddly enough, this is a good thing--it's usually when I finally get angry enough to act that the apathy gets burnt in a fire of outrage.
But there's always that stage before, when I am filled with this curious mix of apathy, simmering rage, and bitterness.
Or is that what bitterness is? Apathy and anger mixed with inaction--just stewing and roiling inside, poisoning every interaction and seeping into others? May I never linger long in that place!
I'd rather just get angry, do something, and move on.
So is apathy.
The older I get, the more I realize the truth of the old caution: be careful who you surround yourself with.
It's not because of fear of "guilt by association", but fear of something much less obvious, far more... sinister.
The attitudes of those around me can very easily become my attitude.
Is this why Jesus was so vehement in His decrying of the Lukewarm church in Revelation?
Not only was this church neither cold nor hot, but their apathy was a poison that--left unchecked--could contaminate all the passion around them, the passion of new believers coming to this church would be soured and quenched.
Personally, I tend to be a bit... extreme... in the things I do. I like to throw myself whole-heartedly into life and all therein. But if I lose that excitement, then I swing very much the other direction & I become very difficult to motivate. I do nothing half-way, including apathy--which is why I hate it so much when I find it in myself.
Whenever I realize I've slid into that mentality again... It makes me so angry. Oddly enough, this is a good thing--it's usually when I finally get angry enough to act that the apathy gets burnt in a fire of outrage.
But there's always that stage before, when I am filled with this curious mix of apathy, simmering rage, and bitterness.
Or is that what bitterness is? Apathy and anger mixed with inaction--just stewing and roiling inside, poisoning every interaction and seeping into others? May I never linger long in that place!
I'd rather just get angry, do something, and move on.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
A Meditation on Imaginary Friends
It's been so long since I heard her voice--years, in fact.
But now... I think I can, just a little, a faint sighing borne to me on a whispy breeze.
Her voice is so very faint, and the only one I can hear... for now.
Yet, I take heart--at least I can hear something. All is not that awful silence that it was...
The music is coming back... I can feel it in my bones, even if I cannot quite hear it yet.
Hearing is still difficult though, and exhausting at times.
Seeing though, that's a different matter.
She is hidden from me, from everyone who could find her. Shape-shifters can be difficult to find, and she has taken the form of a small black cat with brilliant green eyes. Her eyes is the only thing about her that she cannot completely change in her efforts to flee herself. The golden locks that reminded me of sunshine, the voice filled with laughter that always broke into song, the smile that gave fearless reassurance--all that is gone. But those eyes, green as emeralds, deep with sorrow and pain, they are as they have always been.
There is comfort in knowing some things never change--even if the unchangeable is pain.
The black cat wanders aimlessly, forgetting all that she once was. She remembers no more the battles fought and won, the friends now departed, the lover lost, the quest neglected, even her own name eludes her memory. She truly has given herself up to being no more than a feline. Hunting rodents, evading stones thrown by children, enjoying the occasional scratch behind the ears, and always always roving on--these are the only half-formed "thoughts" that fill her foggy mind now.
Yet, discouraged and silent though she is, she is.
This in itself is a wonder.
But now... I think I can, just a little, a faint sighing borne to me on a whispy breeze.
Her voice is so very faint, and the only one I can hear... for now.
Yet, I take heart--at least I can hear something. All is not that awful silence that it was...
The music is coming back... I can feel it in my bones, even if I cannot quite hear it yet.
Hearing is still difficult though, and exhausting at times.
Seeing though, that's a different matter.
She is hidden from me, from everyone who could find her. Shape-shifters can be difficult to find, and she has taken the form of a small black cat with brilliant green eyes. Her eyes is the only thing about her that she cannot completely change in her efforts to flee herself. The golden locks that reminded me of sunshine, the voice filled with laughter that always broke into song, the smile that gave fearless reassurance--all that is gone. But those eyes, green as emeralds, deep with sorrow and pain, they are as they have always been.
There is comfort in knowing some things never change--even if the unchangeable is pain.
The black cat wanders aimlessly, forgetting all that she once was. She remembers no more the battles fought and won, the friends now departed, the lover lost, the quest neglected, even her own name eludes her memory. She truly has given herself up to being no more than a feline. Hunting rodents, evading stones thrown by children, enjoying the occasional scratch behind the ears, and always always roving on--these are the only half-formed "thoughts" that fill her foggy mind now.
Yet, discouraged and silent though she is, she is.
This in itself is a wonder.
The Sport of Stat-Watching
In reviewing the stats on this blog, I've noticed an interesting trend. The two posts that have overwhelmingly taken the lead as far as "most views" are:
Sparrows, in which I ramble shamelessly about my weird delight in a common brown bird (148 views last I checked)
Inspiration, where I write a random story-start in order to get the creative juices flowing... (60 views last count)
It's weird, I didn't even think these two were very good, but they're the most popular on this blog... Apparently a lot of other people like reading about sparrows...?? The internet is a truly bewildering place.
In writing, one of the schools of thought teaches that we are to "write for your audience". This idea is a part of why I am so interested in the statistics provided by blogspot--it gives me an insight about the readers I have... But another school of thought says that we should write for ourselves.
According to the stats, those two cases are not so different as I may have thought. My own brainstorming sessions, unedited and unrefined, are just as interesting to others as they are helpful for me.
Who knew?
I shall have to brainstorm here more often, to share my delight in creating.
In the spirit of inquisitiveness, do you have a favorite post on this blog, your own blog, or any other blog that you'd like to share? Please feel free to!
Sparrows, in which I ramble shamelessly about my weird delight in a common brown bird (148 views last I checked)
Inspiration, where I write a random story-start in order to get the creative juices flowing... (60 views last count)
It's weird, I didn't even think these two were very good, but they're the most popular on this blog... Apparently a lot of other people like reading about sparrows...?? The internet is a truly bewildering place.
In writing, one of the schools of thought teaches that we are to "write for your audience". This idea is a part of why I am so interested in the statistics provided by blogspot--it gives me an insight about the readers I have... But another school of thought says that we should write for ourselves.
According to the stats, those two cases are not so different as I may have thought. My own brainstorming sessions, unedited and unrefined, are just as interesting to others as they are helpful for me.
Who knew?
I shall have to brainstorm here more often, to share my delight in creating.
In the spirit of inquisitiveness, do you have a favorite post on this blog, your own blog, or any other blog that you'd like to share? Please feel free to!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Breathe
Breathing.
In, and out. The rhythm of life: in and out.
Heart beating,
Pumping the life-blood,
In and out.
Regardless of what comes to us, it will pass away from us as well. The question is: how will we let it pass? Gracefully, with peace and an open hand? Or regretfully, clinging to the merest shred of it, dragging out the inevitable with pain and suffering?
Do I fight to keep it in my life, or do I run away from its presence?
In certain circumstances, neither option is healthy.
In others, either could be commendable.
Everything has its time and place.
Breathe.
In,
and Out.
A breathe held, then released,
Then breathed again.
As temporal beings we are subject to this cyclical law.
What will we find when Time ceases to be?
Will the cycle stop?
Will we stop breathing?
Will our hearts stop beating?
I find such an existence hard to imagine...
Is it so entirely other from what we know that we simply cannot understand right now?
Does that excuse us from trying to understand anyway?
Perhaps the cycle does not cease,
Perhaps we will simply no longer be slaves to the cycle.
"Time is not the boss of me!" ~The Doctor
Will that be true for us someday?
In, and out. The rhythm of life: in and out.
Heart beating,
Pumping the life-blood,
In and out.
Regardless of what comes to us, it will pass away from us as well. The question is: how will we let it pass? Gracefully, with peace and an open hand? Or regretfully, clinging to the merest shred of it, dragging out the inevitable with pain and suffering?
Do I fight to keep it in my life, or do I run away from its presence?
In certain circumstances, neither option is healthy.
In others, either could be commendable.
Everything has its time and place.
Breathe.
In,
and Out.
A breathe held, then released,
Then breathed again.
As temporal beings we are subject to this cyclical law.
What will we find when Time ceases to be?
Will the cycle stop?
Will we stop breathing?
Will our hearts stop beating?
I find such an existence hard to imagine...
Is it so entirely other from what we know that we simply cannot understand right now?
Does that excuse us from trying to understand anyway?
Perhaps the cycle does not cease,
Perhaps we will simply no longer be slaves to the cycle.
"Time is not the boss of me!" ~The Doctor
Will that be true for us someday?
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Post-It Inspiration
I have a ... What do you call a cork-board with no cork in it? It's a thingummy on my wall, I can hold paper on it with little thumb-tacks... I have one of those at my office.
Some of the little papers I have tacked up there are business cards, notes to myself on procedures, phone numbers, and the like. But the vast majority of the papers on my board are quotes that I like looking at for a lift during the day.
I tend to get easily discouraged, worn out, bitter, and generally depressed about life. So a lot of the quotations I collect are to combat those tendencies
Some are from friends...
"It's not what they call you that matters, it's what you choose to answer to."
~R.L.K.K.
Some from movies...
"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."
~Alice in Wonderland
Playwrights...
"My mistakes are my life."
~Samuel Beckett
Some are to inspire greatness...
"The only true measure of success is the ratio between what we might have been and what we have become."
~H.G. Wells
Or laughter...
"One of you is gonna fall and die, and I'm not cleaning it up!"
~Captain Malcolm Reynolds
And so much more. When I feel dry & dusty & uninspired, I look over my shoulder at these quotes, and they cause me to think of all who have gone before.
Will anyone look over their shoulder and think of me when they feel uninspired & uncreative, someday?
I want to become that kind of person.
**The title of this post was changed upon realizing that I am a very cliche person when it comes to titles, and had already used "Inspiration" before... whoops... Have I mentioned that I'm not good with titles?**
Some of the little papers I have tacked up there are business cards, notes to myself on procedures, phone numbers, and the like. But the vast majority of the papers on my board are quotes that I like looking at for a lift during the day.
I tend to get easily discouraged, worn out, bitter, and generally depressed about life. So a lot of the quotations I collect are to combat those tendencies
Some are from friends...
"It's not what they call you that matters, it's what you choose to answer to."
~R.L.K.K.
Some from movies...
"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."
~Alice in Wonderland
Playwrights...
"My mistakes are my life."
~Samuel Beckett
Some are to inspire greatness...
"The only true measure of success is the ratio between what we might have been and what we have become."
~H.G. Wells
Or laughter...
"One of you is gonna fall and die, and I'm not cleaning it up!"
~Captain Malcolm Reynolds
And so much more. When I feel dry & dusty & uninspired, I look over my shoulder at these quotes, and they cause me to think of all who have gone before.
Will anyone look over their shoulder and think of me when they feel uninspired & uncreative, someday?
I want to become that kind of person.
**The title of this post was changed upon realizing that I am a very cliche person when it comes to titles, and had already used "Inspiration" before... whoops... Have I mentioned that I'm not good with titles?**
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Faith
Sunshine.
What a beautiful memory,
Blue skies and
Sunshine.
Warm breezes,
Gentle rains
Caressing my upturned face.
Above it all rides the
Sunshine.
Sunshine.
In the winter
It's just a memory,
Relegated to days gone by.
Sunshine
Seems to be no more.
Skies are steely grey
And cold
And I cannot see the
Sunshine.
Sunshine,
It has all fled away,
Chased away
By the driven sleet
And snow.
Sunshine
Beyond my sight
And beyond the feel
Of my upturned face
Burned by frost, wishing for
Sunshine.
Sunshine.
Beyond the bricks,
Beyond these walls,
Behind the clouds,
I know it's somewhere
Out there.
Sunshine.
Through windows I don't have
I imagine I could see,
Clouds that could be pierced
By fiercely joyful
Sunshine.
Sunshine
Will come again.
Perhaps not today,
Perhaps not even tomorrow,
The clouds will be grey,
and the walls will hold fast,
But someday I will see
Sunshine.
I will wait,
Patient, or not,
Chilled to the bone,
But my heart will look forward to
Sunshine.
What a beautiful memory,
Blue skies and
Sunshine.
Warm breezes,
Gentle rains
Caressing my upturned face.
Above it all rides the
Sunshine.
Sunshine.
In the winter
It's just a memory,
Relegated to days gone by.
Sunshine
Seems to be no more.
Skies are steely grey
And cold
And I cannot see the
Sunshine.
Sunshine,
It has all fled away,
Chased away
By the driven sleet
And snow.
Sunshine
Beyond my sight
And beyond the feel
Of my upturned face
Burned by frost, wishing for
Sunshine.
Sunshine.
Beyond the bricks,
Beyond these walls,
Behind the clouds,
I know it's somewhere
Out there.
Sunshine.
Through windows I don't have
I imagine I could see,
Clouds that could be pierced
By fiercely joyful
Sunshine.
Sunshine
Will come again.
Perhaps not today,
Perhaps not even tomorrow,
The clouds will be grey,
and the walls will hold fast,
But someday I will see
Sunshine.
I will wait,
Patient, or not,
Chilled to the bone,
But my heart will look forward to
Sunshine.
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