I have had half a dozen possible posts, and have actually written what totals to a few thousand words of most of them, and in the end, it's not quite right, or I feel silenced. It is frustrating but also rather serene. Something at least, is clear. It is perfectly clear that I am meant to be quiet. I do, however, have the gall to post Leonard Cohen lyrics.
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again,
I heard them say,
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
The wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again;
the dove is never free
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
There is no drum.
Every heart
To love will come
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
Of The Best Stuff, but Cracked
Friday, March 25, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Peekaboo
Hello, people. :)
Thanks to Liz for the little "Earth To Amanda" in her last comment. I am still around, and I'm doing very well. My root canal was completed yesterday and I can't tell you the difference. I just need to get the other crown done and that tooth is complete. There are some other sort of troublesome ones that I'll be taking care of, but they don't hurt me right now, and I'm so grateful. Sorry if I sould like a 90 year old lady discussing my ailments...
Now, not only am I not in pain, but I have so much energy. I'd been feeling physically depressed, though okay in spirit for quite a while and just couldn't muster up the gumption to post much anywhere. I do have some things brewing and I just flooded Martin's site with comments on community. Please pray that way opens for the rest of the dental work with minimal complications and stuff.
This has been in my heart the past two days...
It happened at that time as Eli was lying down in his place (now his
eyesight had begun to grow dim and he could not see well),
and the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down
in the temple of the LORD where the ark of God was,
that the LORD called Samuel; and he said, "Here I am."
Then he ran to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he
said, "I did not call, lie down again." So he went and lay down.
The LORD called yet again, "Samuel!" So Samuel arose and went to Eli
and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he answered, "I did not
call, my son, lie down again."
Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, nor had the word of the LORD yet
been revealed to him.
So the LORD called Samuel again for the third time. And he arose and
went to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli
discerned that the LORD was calling the boy.
And Eli said to Samuel, "Go lie down, and it shall be if He calls you,
that you shall say, `Speak, LORD, for Your servant is listening.' " So
Samuel went and lay down in his place.
Then the LORD came and stood and called as at other times, "Samuel!
Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for Your servant is listening."
1 Samuel 3:2-10
Thanks to Liz for the little "Earth To Amanda" in her last comment. I am still around, and I'm doing very well. My root canal was completed yesterday and I can't tell you the difference. I just need to get the other crown done and that tooth is complete. There are some other sort of troublesome ones that I'll be taking care of, but they don't hurt me right now, and I'm so grateful. Sorry if I sould like a 90 year old lady discussing my ailments...
Now, not only am I not in pain, but I have so much energy. I'd been feeling physically depressed, though okay in spirit for quite a while and just couldn't muster up the gumption to post much anywhere. I do have some things brewing and I just flooded Martin's site with comments on community. Please pray that way opens for the rest of the dental work with minimal complications and stuff.
This has been in my heart the past two days...
It happened at that time as Eli was lying down in his place (now his
eyesight had begun to grow dim and he could not see well),
and the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down
in the temple of the LORD where the ark of God was,
that the LORD called Samuel; and he said, "Here I am."
Then he ran to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he
said, "I did not call, lie down again." So he went and lay down.
The LORD called yet again, "Samuel!" So Samuel arose and went to Eli
and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he answered, "I did not
call, my son, lie down again."
Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, nor had the word of the LORD yet
been revealed to him.
So the LORD called Samuel again for the third time. And he arose and
went to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli
discerned that the LORD was calling the boy.
And Eli said to Samuel, "Go lie down, and it shall be if He calls you,
that you shall say, `Speak, LORD, for Your servant is listening.' " So
Samuel went and lay down in his place.
Then the LORD came and stood and called as at other times, "Samuel!
Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for Your servant is listening."
1 Samuel 3:2-10
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Derr
I have so much good stuff to blog about, especially my wonderful trip to visit Jeff and Cambridge meeting last weekend, but I'm still pretty tongue-tied for whatever reason.
For anyone in New York who's interested, our band, Sorcha Dorcha, will be playing some amazing traditional Irish music tomorrow night at the Half King Resteraunt on 23rd street at 7pm. All friendly blog-stalkers welcome.
In the meantime, here's a beautiful, scary prayer I read today...
God give us rain when we expect sun.
Give us music when we expect trouble.
Give us tears when we expect breakfast.
Give us dreams when we expect a storm.
Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations.
God play with us, turn us sideways and around.
Amen
For anyone in New York who's interested, our band, Sorcha Dorcha, will be playing some amazing traditional Irish music tomorrow night at the Half King Resteraunt on 23rd street at 7pm. All friendly blog-stalkers welcome.
In the meantime, here's a beautiful, scary prayer I read today...
God give us rain when we expect sun.
Give us music when we expect trouble.
Give us tears when we expect breakfast.
Give us dreams when we expect a storm.
Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations.
God play with us, turn us sideways and around.
Amen
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Sacrelicious
Okay, this is terrible. But since I had a much-loved variation of this book in childhood, I cannot resist. So. Very. Funny.
The Little Golden Book of Zogg
The Little Golden Book of Zogg
Friday, March 11, 2005
An Excerpt
Letting someone wiser and more articulate than I speak of Plain...
"The difficulty in regard to bearing a practical testimony against superfluities is not that which some of us feel in the case of war -- that we do not know where to take hold, that our personal and daily conduct seems to have no immediate bearing upon questions of international policy, and that the whole problem eludes our grasp by its very vastness. It is, rather, that we do not like to put our shoulder to the wheel of simplifying life for ourselves and others; that we do not see the beauty of severity; that we love softness, or yield to it for want of any purifying fire of hope.
"But yet, in one form or another, often extravagantly, foolishly, even injuriously, an ineradicable instinct has prompted Christians in all times to free themselves from luxurious and self-indulgent ways of living; to walk as disciples of him who 'had not where to lay His head;' to lay aside, not only every sin, but every weight, that so they may run the race set before them, not as beating the air, but as those who strive for the victory. It is, indeed, not easy to define the precise kind or amount of luxury which is incompatible with Christian simplicity; or rather it must of necessity vary. But the principle is, I think, clear. In life, as in art, whatever does not help, hinders. All that is superfluous to the main object of life must be cleared away, if that object is to be fully attained. In all kind of effort, whether moral, intellectual, or physical, the essential condition of vigor is a severe pruning away of redundance. Is it likely that the highest life, the life of the Christian body, can be carried on upon easier terms?
"...The Quaker ideal, as I understand it, requires a continual weighing of one thing against another - a continual preference of the lasting and deep over the transient and superficial. 'Weightiness' is one of the Friends' characteristic and emphatic forms of commendation. To sacrifice any deep and substantial advantage to outward show is abhorrent to the Quaker instinct. To 'stretch beyond one's compass' grasping at shadows, and encumbering oneself with more than is needed for simple, wholesome living, is at variance with all our best traditions.
"...Friends, no doubt, have often believed themselves required to submit to the adoption of plain dress 'in the cross' to natural inclination, and have felt it a valuable exercise to do so; but the plainness was not devised for that purpose, but chosen (or rather, as Friends would say, they were led into it by Truth) because of its inherent suitableness and rightness. It is an outcome of the instinctively felt necessity of subordinating everything to principle. Its chief significance is that of a protest against bondage to passing fashions, and for this reason it is a settled costume. It is also felt that our very dress should show forth that inward quietness of sprit which does not naturally tend towards outward adornment, and the Friends' recognized dress is therefore one of extreme sobriety in color and simplicity in form.
"It is a significant fact that there is really no such thing as a precisely defined Quaker costume. The dress is certainly precise enough in itself, and to the naked eye of the outside observer it may appear to present an undeviating uniformity; but it is really not a uniform in the sense in which a nun's or a soldier's dress is a uniform. It is in all respects a growth, a tradition, a language; and it is subject to constant though slow modification. Any perfectly unadorned dress of quiet color, without ornament or trimming, if habitually worn, is in fact, to all intents and purposes, the Quaker costume...But the one important matter of principle which the Society as a body have recognized, is that it is a waste of time and money...which...can hardly fail to find better employment, to condescend to be perpetually changing the fashion of one's garments in obedience to caprice or the restlessness of the multitude. 'Plain Friends' are those who are resolved to dress according to the settled principles which commend themselves to their own mind, not enslaving themselves to passing fashion.
"...My own strong feeling is that the adoption of a settled costume, at any rate in mature life and from conviction, is not only the right and most dignified course on moral grounds, but also that it has in actual experience afforded one more proof of the truth that the lower aims of life can thrive only in proportion to the higher. The freedom from the necessity of perpetual changes, which commends itself to Friends as suitable..to...dignity...has also the advantage of admitting a gradual bringing to perfection of the settled costume itself. We all know how exquisite, within its severely limited range, can be the result. The spotless delicacy, the precision and perfection of plain fine needlework, the repose of the soft tints, combine, in the dress of some still lingering representatives of the old school of Quakerism, to produce a result whose quiet beauty appeals to both the mind and the eye with a peculiar charm. I cannot think that such mute eloquence is to be despised; or that it is unworthy...that their very dress shall speak a language of quietness, gentleness, and purity - that it shall be impressive even with a touch of eternity."
- Friend Caroline Stephen, from Quaker Strongholds, 1890
"The difficulty in regard to bearing a practical testimony against superfluities is not that which some of us feel in the case of war -- that we do not know where to take hold, that our personal and daily conduct seems to have no immediate bearing upon questions of international policy, and that the whole problem eludes our grasp by its very vastness. It is, rather, that we do not like to put our shoulder to the wheel of simplifying life for ourselves and others; that we do not see the beauty of severity; that we love softness, or yield to it for want of any purifying fire of hope.
"But yet, in one form or another, often extravagantly, foolishly, even injuriously, an ineradicable instinct has prompted Christians in all times to free themselves from luxurious and self-indulgent ways of living; to walk as disciples of him who 'had not where to lay His head;' to lay aside, not only every sin, but every weight, that so they may run the race set before them, not as beating the air, but as those who strive for the victory. It is, indeed, not easy to define the precise kind or amount of luxury which is incompatible with Christian simplicity; or rather it must of necessity vary. But the principle is, I think, clear. In life, as in art, whatever does not help, hinders. All that is superfluous to the main object of life must be cleared away, if that object is to be fully attained. In all kind of effort, whether moral, intellectual, or physical, the essential condition of vigor is a severe pruning away of redundance. Is it likely that the highest life, the life of the Christian body, can be carried on upon easier terms?
"...The Quaker ideal, as I understand it, requires a continual weighing of one thing against another - a continual preference of the lasting and deep over the transient and superficial. 'Weightiness' is one of the Friends' characteristic and emphatic forms of commendation. To sacrifice any deep and substantial advantage to outward show is abhorrent to the Quaker instinct. To 'stretch beyond one's compass' grasping at shadows, and encumbering oneself with more than is needed for simple, wholesome living, is at variance with all our best traditions.
"...Friends, no doubt, have often believed themselves required to submit to the adoption of plain dress 'in the cross' to natural inclination, and have felt it a valuable exercise to do so; but the plainness was not devised for that purpose, but chosen (or rather, as Friends would say, they were led into it by Truth) because of its inherent suitableness and rightness. It is an outcome of the instinctively felt necessity of subordinating everything to principle. Its chief significance is that of a protest against bondage to passing fashions, and for this reason it is a settled costume. It is also felt that our very dress should show forth that inward quietness of sprit which does not naturally tend towards outward adornment, and the Friends' recognized dress is therefore one of extreme sobriety in color and simplicity in form.
"It is a significant fact that there is really no such thing as a precisely defined Quaker costume. The dress is certainly precise enough in itself, and to the naked eye of the outside observer it may appear to present an undeviating uniformity; but it is really not a uniform in the sense in which a nun's or a soldier's dress is a uniform. It is in all respects a growth, a tradition, a language; and it is subject to constant though slow modification. Any perfectly unadorned dress of quiet color, without ornament or trimming, if habitually worn, is in fact, to all intents and purposes, the Quaker costume...But the one important matter of principle which the Society as a body have recognized, is that it is a waste of time and money...which...can hardly fail to find better employment, to condescend to be perpetually changing the fashion of one's garments in obedience to caprice or the restlessness of the multitude. 'Plain Friends' are those who are resolved to dress according to the settled principles which commend themselves to their own mind, not enslaving themselves to passing fashion.
"...My own strong feeling is that the adoption of a settled costume, at any rate in mature life and from conviction, is not only the right and most dignified course on moral grounds, but also that it has in actual experience afforded one more proof of the truth that the lower aims of life can thrive only in proportion to the higher. The freedom from the necessity of perpetual changes, which commends itself to Friends as suitable..to...dignity...has also the advantage of admitting a gradual bringing to perfection of the settled costume itself. We all know how exquisite, within its severely limited range, can be the result. The spotless delicacy, the precision and perfection of plain fine needlework, the repose of the soft tints, combine, in the dress of some still lingering representatives of the old school of Quakerism, to produce a result whose quiet beauty appeals to both the mind and the eye with a peculiar charm. I cannot think that such mute eloquence is to be despised; or that it is unworthy...that their very dress shall speak a language of quietness, gentleness, and purity - that it shall be impressive even with a touch of eternity."
- Friend Caroline Stephen, from Quaker Strongholds, 1890
Tongue-tied
I dunno if it's the dentistry, a new humility (heh) or simply being speechless with anticipation over my upcoming trip to Boston, but I haven't been able to muster up a single decent entry.
If you haven't plumbed the depths of my links - give them a look. I am getting so much nourishment from so many of these blogs during my silence. Blogger is acting up so much I can't even COMMENT on some of the brilliant postings that have been going on. Somebody is really trying to shut me up.
Here's a wee little poem for ya'll. (yes, I earned my right to an occasional "ya'll" doing six hard years of labour in North Carolina)
Who has not found the heaven below
Will fail of it above.
God’s residence is next to mine,
His furniture is love.
-Emily Dickinson
If you haven't plumbed the depths of my links - give them a look. I am getting so much nourishment from so many of these blogs during my silence. Blogger is acting up so much I can't even COMMENT on some of the brilliant postings that have been going on. Somebody is really trying to shut me up.
Here's a wee little poem for ya'll. (yes, I earned my right to an occasional "ya'll" doing six hard years of labour in North Carolina)
Who has not found the heaven below
Will fail of it above.
God’s residence is next to mine,
His furniture is love.
-Emily Dickinson
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
The interview game
So, Ruthie started the Interview Game, where someone asks you 5 questions, you answer them, and then you ask someone else 5 questions. If someone wants to be up next, let me know. Here's what Ruthie asked me...
1. How did you end up living in New York?
Oh jeeze - there are so many answers to this question, and they are all so long and complicated. The simplest story is this - I was living in North Carolina, a situation which was becoming increasingly wretched. I had a bunch of online friends in New York, and when I asked for advice on how to deal with the wretched situation, they said "Screw the advice, come live in New York." So I did, and have ever since. When people ask me "What brought you to New York" all I really have to do is look at them blankly for a second, say "New York." and they get it.
2. How did you end up in the Quakers?
Well, I was raised uber-Catholic, very, very Catholic, and I loved it. My parents took the pious pill when I was about seven, which is a great age to discover God and organized religion. I was finally getting these gorgeous Baroque answers to the "why" questions I'd been asking since I was two. Plus at that age you love smoke and magic and sparkly things and angels and you love ritual - that's the age where you learn all the jump-rope and counting-out rhymes, and you begin starting your secret "no boys allowed" societies, and you're looking to associate with a group, very strongly. So I jumped in with both feet and didn't stop until I was 18. I had been reading mystical texts like "Cloud of Unknowing" and St. John of the Cross, and I was really expecting to become a nun. Then, freshman year of college, I started reading more, and learning more, and my new uncertainties were used and guided by other people for their own angry reasons. My faith broke down, and I figured I'd lost a certain type of innocence, which I had. There's a certain kind of blind, unquestioned faith that you lose once doubt is introduced. It's not a bad thing, but it was kind of traumatic for me, and I dealt with it by becoming a very unhappy brand of agnostic. I thought "you can't go back without wilfully blinding yourself" which is mostly true. I poked around Buddhism for a while but it wasn't right for me, and I kind of let go of the whole God/religion question. Then I started trying to go to Mass again, but I always left feeling so sad and uncomfortable and lonely. I was pretty miserable in this area of my life, because I had no idea how to fix it. One day I was reading The Witch of Blackbird Pond. One of the main characters was a Quaker, and I suddenly remembered the little bit I knew about them. I went online and started reading everything Quaker I could get my hands on. Inspired (somewhat ironically) by Martin Kelley's Quaker Ranter I mustered up the courage to show up at 15th Street one morning. And I kept showing up. Quakerism gave me room to let God find me, rather than vice-versa.
3. Other than working, blogging and Quakering, what else do you do with your spare time? (Do have any? I seem to remember that you work seriously long hours)
Well, my seriously long hours are seriously non-demanding hours. It's kind of like being in prison with good lighting and lots of coffee. No one really expects much from me. So I read, a lot, and write, and sew and knit and stare into space, and compulsively check my e-mail, and play music and chat with friends who stop by. For the service industry, it feels pretty damned aristocratic. (I guess it's like Martha Stewart in the slammer) In the rest of my spare time, I am talking to my boy and at any given moment plotting my descent upon and overthrow of his town. In what's left over, I sleep. I like to sleep almost as much as I like to read, but not quite, which might explain the funny contortionist thing I have to do to get comfortable with all the books in my bed.
4. What is the best thing you have done in your life so far?
It is probably kind of scary and telling that my first knee-jerk response to this question is a song from The Sound of Music....
Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somwhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth...
...Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good
Uh, I dunno. I have been disappointing in the grand acts of goodness or thrilling stunts of coolness department. If we're talking about what was the best decision I ever made, moving to New York would probably be it, but then we get into the whole butterfly effect, there are lots of decisions that lead up to the one to move to New York, not all of them good, and there are a lot of decisions after moving to New York that justify it into "the best thing". It's confusing. I think it might clear things up if I would just run into a burning building and save some puppies already.
5. You get to invite 3 people, from anywhere in the world and even from beyond the grave to a dinner party. Who do you invite and why?
Oooh, I hate this question. My first response to it has always been Oscar Wilde, but the more I learn about myself and him, the more I think he would hate me. I can think of endless permutations of people that would be astonishing to watch and see how they get on, though I wouldn't want to be in on the conversation. Ghandi might be an awkward dinner companion, though I'd love to invite him for a week in the country.
Here's one that might make for some laughs - President Bush in a straitjacket, Godzilla, and a Giant Sentient Can of Spray-on Butter.
I can think of a lot of real-life people I know from my everyday that would be great to have for dinner. With lots of hotsauce.
I am completely losing my sense of the hypothetical these days, and it's disturbing.
1. How did you end up living in New York?
Oh jeeze - there are so many answers to this question, and they are all so long and complicated. The simplest story is this - I was living in North Carolina, a situation which was becoming increasingly wretched. I had a bunch of online friends in New York, and when I asked for advice on how to deal with the wretched situation, they said "Screw the advice, come live in New York." So I did, and have ever since. When people ask me "What brought you to New York" all I really have to do is look at them blankly for a second, say "New York." and they get it.
2. How did you end up in the Quakers?
Well, I was raised uber-Catholic, very, very Catholic, and I loved it. My parents took the pious pill when I was about seven, which is a great age to discover God and organized religion. I was finally getting these gorgeous Baroque answers to the "why" questions I'd been asking since I was two. Plus at that age you love smoke and magic and sparkly things and angels and you love ritual - that's the age where you learn all the jump-rope and counting-out rhymes, and you begin starting your secret "no boys allowed" societies, and you're looking to associate with a group, very strongly. So I jumped in with both feet and didn't stop until I was 18. I had been reading mystical texts like "Cloud of Unknowing" and St. John of the Cross, and I was really expecting to become a nun. Then, freshman year of college, I started reading more, and learning more, and my new uncertainties were used and guided by other people for their own angry reasons. My faith broke down, and I figured I'd lost a certain type of innocence, which I had. There's a certain kind of blind, unquestioned faith that you lose once doubt is introduced. It's not a bad thing, but it was kind of traumatic for me, and I dealt with it by becoming a very unhappy brand of agnostic. I thought "you can't go back without wilfully blinding yourself" which is mostly true. I poked around Buddhism for a while but it wasn't right for me, and I kind of let go of the whole God/religion question. Then I started trying to go to Mass again, but I always left feeling so sad and uncomfortable and lonely. I was pretty miserable in this area of my life, because I had no idea how to fix it. One day I was reading The Witch of Blackbird Pond. One of the main characters was a Quaker, and I suddenly remembered the little bit I knew about them. I went online and started reading everything Quaker I could get my hands on. Inspired (somewhat ironically) by Martin Kelley's Quaker Ranter I mustered up the courage to show up at 15th Street one morning. And I kept showing up. Quakerism gave me room to let God find me, rather than vice-versa.
3. Other than working, blogging and Quakering, what else do you do with your spare time? (Do have any? I seem to remember that you work seriously long hours)
Well, my seriously long hours are seriously non-demanding hours. It's kind of like being in prison with good lighting and lots of coffee. No one really expects much from me. So I read, a lot, and write, and sew and knit and stare into space, and compulsively check my e-mail, and play music and chat with friends who stop by. For the service industry, it feels pretty damned aristocratic. (I guess it's like Martha Stewart in the slammer) In the rest of my spare time, I am talking to my boy and at any given moment plotting my descent upon and overthrow of his town. In what's left over, I sleep. I like to sleep almost as much as I like to read, but not quite, which might explain the funny contortionist thing I have to do to get comfortable with all the books in my bed.
4. What is the best thing you have done in your life so far?
It is probably kind of scary and telling that my first knee-jerk response to this question is a song from The Sound of Music....
Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somwhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth...
...Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good
Uh, I dunno. I have been disappointing in the grand acts of goodness or thrilling stunts of coolness department. If we're talking about what was the best decision I ever made, moving to New York would probably be it, but then we get into the whole butterfly effect, there are lots of decisions that lead up to the one to move to New York, not all of them good, and there are a lot of decisions after moving to New York that justify it into "the best thing". It's confusing. I think it might clear things up if I would just run into a burning building and save some puppies already.
5. You get to invite 3 people, from anywhere in the world and even from beyond the grave to a dinner party. Who do you invite and why?
Oooh, I hate this question. My first response to it has always been Oscar Wilde, but the more I learn about myself and him, the more I think he would hate me. I can think of endless permutations of people that would be astonishing to watch and see how they get on, though I wouldn't want to be in on the conversation. Ghandi might be an awkward dinner companion, though I'd love to invite him for a week in the country.
Here's one that might make for some laughs - President Bush in a straitjacket, Godzilla, and a Giant Sentient Can of Spray-on Butter.
I can think of a lot of real-life people I know from my everyday that would be great to have for dinner. With lots of hotsauce.
I am completely losing my sense of the hypothetical these days, and it's disturbing.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Teeth
I wrote this tongue-in-cheek (heh. puns.) Haiku to Jeff today.
Big hole in my tooth
No abscess like your absence
Fillings are precious
I went to the NYU dental clinic, and began a root canal. They said it was good I came in because it was badly infected - and that that would explain my huge fatigue these days. I knew I had a toothache, but I thought I was getting depressed and anxious. Turns out I was just infected. So maybe now I will be less cranky and drink less whiskey. :) It hurt a lot - the lidocane won't work in an acidic environment, and the infection was acidic. Not a fun chemistry lesson. But I made no noise - not a peep! And I totally showed up the wuss across the divider who sounded like kittens in a blender.
Now my left corner of my lower lip feels as though it is swinging somewhere around my left ankle.
Sexy.
Anyhow, I closed my eyes and dissociated myself into a "happy place". I kept thinking of something funny Jeff had said and snickering, which was awkward because they had this terrifying Hannibal Lector rubber mask stretched across my face blocking the Evil Tooth from all the Innocent Teeth while they worked.
I want to thank Friends from 15th street who helped me in good old-fashioned Quaker way - making calls, writing e-mails, gettting me assistance, taking me to the clinic so I wouldn't be alone...I really felt the love and support of the community in a tangible every-day way. It is cliche to say now I "want to give back" but I am strengthened and inspired in my vision of a tightly knit meeting of Friends.
Glory be!
Big hole in my tooth
No abscess like your absence
Fillings are precious
I went to the NYU dental clinic, and began a root canal. They said it was good I came in because it was badly infected - and that that would explain my huge fatigue these days. I knew I had a toothache, but I thought I was getting depressed and anxious. Turns out I was just infected. So maybe now I will be less cranky and drink less whiskey. :) It hurt a lot - the lidocane won't work in an acidic environment, and the infection was acidic. Not a fun chemistry lesson. But I made no noise - not a peep! And I totally showed up the wuss across the divider who sounded like kittens in a blender.
Now my left corner of my lower lip feels as though it is swinging somewhere around my left ankle.
Sexy.
Anyhow, I closed my eyes and dissociated myself into a "happy place". I kept thinking of something funny Jeff had said and snickering, which was awkward because they had this terrifying Hannibal Lector rubber mask stretched across my face blocking the Evil Tooth from all the Innocent Teeth while they worked.
I want to thank Friends from 15th street who helped me in good old-fashioned Quaker way - making calls, writing e-mails, gettting me assistance, taking me to the clinic so I wouldn't be alone...I really felt the love and support of the community in a tangible every-day way. It is cliche to say now I "want to give back" but I am strengthened and inspired in my vision of a tightly knit meeting of Friends.
Glory be!
Friday, March 04, 2005
Poetry
I haven't been reading as much poetry as I used to - my mind has been full of other things. But I was looking out at my patch on New York sky and a few lines of ee cummings sprang unbidden into my mind. I've been hiding a bit from cummings for lots of reasons, not he least of which is that I've heard him dismissed as suitible mostly for moon-struck adolescents.
I admit it - in college my big eyed, henna-haired, moon-struck roommate and I copied out sheaves of his poems on attractive paper and stuck them all over the walls with her ink-drawings of flowers and women and trees, and my gentle idea of "found art" - scraps of things that seemed beautiful or abandoned to me that I would bring home. I didn't know the term "art installation" at the time, but I guess that's what we had.
Discovering ee cummings was a huge gift to me. I had never encountered someone who (for all his strange syntax) spoke so plainly and without artifice about all the things I carried in my heart and had no words for.
I guess I was terrified that encountering him again, now that I'm a little more grown up and jaded, I'd find it all to be fluff and melodrama and emotional emptiness.
It's not.
We had the inevitable Klimt posters on our wall, too, especially the dreadfully over exposed Kiss. Thing is, that painting, no matter how many times I see it on a coffee mug, never loses any of its shock of intimacy and beauty. Like many cummings poems, it is cluttered and gilt and ornate, but also very plain and unflinching and true. I had been worried that these artists were just part of a stage. I went through a ballerina stage, a pony stage, a black-eyeliner and Sylvia Plath stage, and, I was afraid, an ee cummings and Klimt stage. I'm thrilled to realize that while they might have been included in a whole "emotional aesthetic" stage (which I don't think I've really grown out of) they also contain lasting truth and accessibility. In both, there is a simplicity, a courage and a shamelessness in revealing these tender/mad/embarassing things that I want to learn from.
Rereading the poems today my heart is just falling into each one. I wanted to post one but every one is more beautiful than the next, so I'll post the one that came into my mind and started this whole thing.
65
---------------------------------------------------------------
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of allnothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
ee cummings
I admit it - in college my big eyed, henna-haired, moon-struck roommate and I copied out sheaves of his poems on attractive paper and stuck them all over the walls with her ink-drawings of flowers and women and trees, and my gentle idea of "found art" - scraps of things that seemed beautiful or abandoned to me that I would bring home. I didn't know the term "art installation" at the time, but I guess that's what we had.
Discovering ee cummings was a huge gift to me. I had never encountered someone who (for all his strange syntax) spoke so plainly and without artifice about all the things I carried in my heart and had no words for.
I guess I was terrified that encountering him again, now that I'm a little more grown up and jaded, I'd find it all to be fluff and melodrama and emotional emptiness.
It's not.
We had the inevitable Klimt posters on our wall, too, especially the dreadfully over exposed Kiss. Thing is, that painting, no matter how many times I see it on a coffee mug, never loses any of its shock of intimacy and beauty. Like many cummings poems, it is cluttered and gilt and ornate, but also very plain and unflinching and true. I had been worried that these artists were just part of a stage. I went through a ballerina stage, a pony stage, a black-eyeliner and Sylvia Plath stage, and, I was afraid, an ee cummings and Klimt stage. I'm thrilled to realize that while they might have been included in a whole "emotional aesthetic" stage (which I don't think I've really grown out of) they also contain lasting truth and accessibility. In both, there is a simplicity, a courage and a shamelessness in revealing these tender/mad/embarassing things that I want to learn from.
Rereading the poems today my heart is just falling into each one. I wanted to post one but every one is more beautiful than the next, so I'll post the one that came into my mind and started this whole thing.
65
---------------------------------------------------------------
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of allnothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
ee cummings
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Quakers and Sex
Wow, I hope that title doesn't propell me to the top of the Amish-Fetish google search. I also hope that having typed the words Amish-Fetish into this post doesn't have the same effect.
As I rediscover my spirtuality, and the changes that is has made, and continues to make in my life, I have been ready - even eager - to come upon new challenges of ethics and their meaning in my life. The one arena I've been loathe to touch, for probably very predictable ex-Catholic reasons, is sexuality, and how a truly God-centred, rather than bible or catechism centred, life treats it these days. My personal thought and experience on the subject has swung from Josh Harris style no-kissing-till-the-altar chastity to everything-goes-eat-drink-and-be-merry-for-tomorrow-we-die libertine amorality. Once I came to the Silence of Quaker Meeting, I was content to put the matter into the back corners of my brain, which worked quite well.
Last First Day, a member gave a tender and funny message on the subject, after finding "s-e-x" carved into the back of the bench in front of her. In my explorations of Plain Dress, I constantly run up against passionate ideals and apologetics for "modesty" in dress as a sexual ethic.
Alice, the Public Quaker blogged about this article on modesty today. As I read it, I found myself both moved and conflicted by it. I was relating very strongly to the author and her experience, and her viewpoint, but I couldn't concieve of re-aliging myself with the "sex ed is the root of all evil" ideology. (Disclaimer, I'm not sure that's what the author was saying.)
It's so hard to know what's socialization, what's convention, what's true, what's made up, what is actually right, and what is outdated ethic. What is prudence? What is prudery?
I have been rather outspoken in my declaration that I don't dress plain for the sake of modesty, but I'm reconsidering that statement. Wait - hear me out. In my search for an definition of sexual virtue untainted by neurosis or patriarchy or outdated moral codes, I actually came very close to it in this article, which is largely concerned with the question of homosexuality, but also much more widely applicable. It is Towards a Quaker View of Sex.
The most useful quote from the piece is this:
True chastity is a quality of the spirit: it entails the deepest respect and a profound value for human relationships. It involves the most generous giving, which may mean the restraint of withholding, but it is not solely measured in physical terms. Further, there are lives which are being lived unconventionally with more true chastity than some lived in obedience to conventional codes.
If chastity means respect for oneself and others, then promiscuity is the final denial of it. It denies the importance of personality, and those who seek relief in this way of life imprison their true selves—they are sexual deviants damaging both themselves and their transitory partner by divorcing the physical from the spiritual and keeping impersonal what should involve the whole personality. Yet wherever the most transient relationship has, as it may have, an element of true tenderness and mutual giving and receiving, it has in it something of good.
What then is chastity? It is the antithesis of what was recently described to one of us as “the hire purchase attitude of this age”—the attitude that implies: “I want it now and I must have it. I will pay later—perhaps—if I can”. It is not rigid restraint nor refusal to be involved; it is not arid self-discipline nor living according to a moral pattern. It is a wholeness of personality, courtesy and charity, sincerity and purity of heart. It is not necessarily measured in physical terms; it is a total absence of exploitation; it is as necessary a part of marriage as of a single life.
It seems to me that this is a chastity to which I could aspire to, and align myself with. In this context, dressing in a way that is not indiscriminately sexual, which perhaps even puts up barriers to objectification, can be a valuable part of any ethic of truth. By making a sign of "removing oneself from the market" of heartless, selfish, commodity-driven sexuality, perhaps it is possible to move a few steps nearer a world based on whole love, equality, and respect. As my other motivations for plain dress aspire to that same world, would it not be an enrichment to find another supportive motivation?
I've leave you with another important selection from Towards a Quaker View of Sex
Every true Christian, of whatever branch of the Church, accepts that the whole of his life must be brought before God. The Society of Friends places particular emphasis on our individual and personal responsibility. We cannot accept as true a statement that is given us merely because it is given with the authority of tradition or of a Church. We have to make that truth our own—if it is a truth—through diligent and prayerful search and a rigorous discipline of thought and feeling. Man is intended to be a moral being. That is not to say that he should accept a formal morality, an observance of mores, but that his actions should come under searching scrutiny in the light that comes from the Gospels and the working of God within us.
There have been periods in our Quaker history when the effort to achieve consistency and integrity toppled over into a humourless scrupulosity, leading to a restricted life in which a pattern of conduct was secured at the expense of warmth and joy and creativeness. Friends, if they keep in mind the need to avoid this error, could help to discover that kind of conduct and inner discipline through which the sexual energy of men and women can bring health of mind and spirit to a world where man’s energy always threatens to become destructive. We need a release of love, warmth and generosity into the world, in the everyday contacts of life, a positive force that will weaken our fear of one another and our tendencies toward aggression and power-seeking. We need to recognize fearlessly and thankfully the sexual origin of this force.
This search is a move forward into the unknown; it implies a high standard of responsibility, thinking and awareness—something much harder than simple obedience to a moral code. Further, the responsibility that it implies cannot be accepted alone; it must be responsibility within a group whose members are equally committed to the search for God’s will.
Perhaps our last words should be to those, equally aware of the tragedy, who may be distressed and put off by our rejection of a morality that has seemed to them a product of Christianity. We do know, from the intimate experience of several of us, that it is possible to give substance to the traditional code, to live within its requirements, enriched by an experience of love at its most generous and tender, and conscious of our debt to Christ in showing us what love implies. We would ask those who cannot easily follow our thoughts to recognize what has driven us—Christians and Friends, trying to live up to the high standard of integrity that our religious society asks of us—to our insistent questioning.
It is the awareness that the traditional code, in itself, does not come from the heart; for the great majority of men and women it has no roots in feeling or true conviction. We have been seeking a morality that will indeed have its roots in the depths of our being and in our awareness of the true needs of our fellows.
We believe that there is indeed a place for discipline, but that it can only be fully healthy as well as fully Christian when it is found in application to the whole of life. The challenge to each of us is clear: accustom yourself to seeking God’s will and to the experience of his love and power, become used in your daily life to the simple but tremendous spiritual fact that what God asks he enables, provided only and always that we want to do his will.
As I rediscover my spirtuality, and the changes that is has made, and continues to make in my life, I have been ready - even eager - to come upon new challenges of ethics and their meaning in my life. The one arena I've been loathe to touch, for probably very predictable ex-Catholic reasons, is sexuality, and how a truly God-centred, rather than bible or catechism centred, life treats it these days. My personal thought and experience on the subject has swung from Josh Harris style no-kissing-till-the-altar chastity to everything-goes-eat-drink-and-be-merry-for-tomorrow-we-die libertine amorality. Once I came to the Silence of Quaker Meeting, I was content to put the matter into the back corners of my brain, which worked quite well.
Last First Day, a member gave a tender and funny message on the subject, after finding "s-e-x" carved into the back of the bench in front of her. In my explorations of Plain Dress, I constantly run up against passionate ideals and apologetics for "modesty" in dress as a sexual ethic.
Alice, the Public Quaker blogged about this article on modesty today. As I read it, I found myself both moved and conflicted by it. I was relating very strongly to the author and her experience, and her viewpoint, but I couldn't concieve of re-aliging myself with the "sex ed is the root of all evil" ideology. (Disclaimer, I'm not sure that's what the author was saying.)
It's so hard to know what's socialization, what's convention, what's true, what's made up, what is actually right, and what is outdated ethic. What is prudence? What is prudery?
I have been rather outspoken in my declaration that I don't dress plain for the sake of modesty, but I'm reconsidering that statement. Wait - hear me out. In my search for an definition of sexual virtue untainted by neurosis or patriarchy or outdated moral codes, I actually came very close to it in this article, which is largely concerned with the question of homosexuality, but also much more widely applicable. It is Towards a Quaker View of Sex.
The most useful quote from the piece is this:
True chastity is a quality of the spirit: it entails the deepest respect and a profound value for human relationships. It involves the most generous giving, which may mean the restraint of withholding, but it is not solely measured in physical terms. Further, there are lives which are being lived unconventionally with more true chastity than some lived in obedience to conventional codes.
If chastity means respect for oneself and others, then promiscuity is the final denial of it. It denies the importance of personality, and those who seek relief in this way of life imprison their true selves—they are sexual deviants damaging both themselves and their transitory partner by divorcing the physical from the spiritual and keeping impersonal what should involve the whole personality. Yet wherever the most transient relationship has, as it may have, an element of true tenderness and mutual giving and receiving, it has in it something of good.
What then is chastity? It is the antithesis of what was recently described to one of us as “the hire purchase attitude of this age”—the attitude that implies: “I want it now and I must have it. I will pay later—perhaps—if I can”. It is not rigid restraint nor refusal to be involved; it is not arid self-discipline nor living according to a moral pattern. It is a wholeness of personality, courtesy and charity, sincerity and purity of heart. It is not necessarily measured in physical terms; it is a total absence of exploitation; it is as necessary a part of marriage as of a single life.
It seems to me that this is a chastity to which I could aspire to, and align myself with. In this context, dressing in a way that is not indiscriminately sexual, which perhaps even puts up barriers to objectification, can be a valuable part of any ethic of truth. By making a sign of "removing oneself from the market" of heartless, selfish, commodity-driven sexuality, perhaps it is possible to move a few steps nearer a world based on whole love, equality, and respect. As my other motivations for plain dress aspire to that same world, would it not be an enrichment to find another supportive motivation?
I've leave you with another important selection from Towards a Quaker View of Sex
Every true Christian, of whatever branch of the Church, accepts that the whole of his life must be brought before God. The Society of Friends places particular emphasis on our individual and personal responsibility. We cannot accept as true a statement that is given us merely because it is given with the authority of tradition or of a Church. We have to make that truth our own—if it is a truth—through diligent and prayerful search and a rigorous discipline of thought and feeling. Man is intended to be a moral being. That is not to say that he should accept a formal morality, an observance of mores, but that his actions should come under searching scrutiny in the light that comes from the Gospels and the working of God within us.
There have been periods in our Quaker history when the effort to achieve consistency and integrity toppled over into a humourless scrupulosity, leading to a restricted life in which a pattern of conduct was secured at the expense of warmth and joy and creativeness. Friends, if they keep in mind the need to avoid this error, could help to discover that kind of conduct and inner discipline through which the sexual energy of men and women can bring health of mind and spirit to a world where man’s energy always threatens to become destructive. We need a release of love, warmth and generosity into the world, in the everyday contacts of life, a positive force that will weaken our fear of one another and our tendencies toward aggression and power-seeking. We need to recognize fearlessly and thankfully the sexual origin of this force.
This search is a move forward into the unknown; it implies a high standard of responsibility, thinking and awareness—something much harder than simple obedience to a moral code. Further, the responsibility that it implies cannot be accepted alone; it must be responsibility within a group whose members are equally committed to the search for God’s will.
Perhaps our last words should be to those, equally aware of the tragedy, who may be distressed and put off by our rejection of a morality that has seemed to them a product of Christianity. We do know, from the intimate experience of several of us, that it is possible to give substance to the traditional code, to live within its requirements, enriched by an experience of love at its most generous and tender, and conscious of our debt to Christ in showing us what love implies. We would ask those who cannot easily follow our thoughts to recognize what has driven us—Christians and Friends, trying to live up to the high standard of integrity that our religious society asks of us—to our insistent questioning.
It is the awareness that the traditional code, in itself, does not come from the heart; for the great majority of men and women it has no roots in feeling or true conviction. We have been seeking a morality that will indeed have its roots in the depths of our being and in our awareness of the true needs of our fellows.
We believe that there is indeed a place for discipline, but that it can only be fully healthy as well as fully Christian when it is found in application to the whole of life. The challenge to each of us is clear: accustom yourself to seeking God’s will and to the experience of his love and power, become used in your daily life to the simple but tremendous spiritual fact that what God asks he enables, provided only and always that we want to do his will.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Underground
For the last couple of weeks, my sleep has been disturbed by odd, unsettling dreams. They range from mundane to ridiculous, but all of them share the same basic feature - they include the subway, and a feeling of fear or uneasiness or tragedy around it. I've had at least a dozen dreams like this. In some the subway is an incidental bit of scenery, in others, I'm running through it, in others, all the action is centred around it.
I had the latest in the series last night. I was on an oddly shaped, crowded subway platform. The train was going somewhere unusual. I can't remember where it was, but I remember that being a part of the dream - as if it was a subway shuttle that only went to one particular place. I was unnerved by the fact that so many people were waiting in the subway track pit instead of on the platform. I figured that since it was a special train, there must be some sort of special warning system that allowed people to wait down there, freeing up space on the platform. It bothered me, though. Suddenly, we heard the train coming and everyone on the tracks started freaking out, and trying to climb out of the way.
I lunged forward to help, despairing of getting them all out in time. Closest to me were two little boys, one about six years old and one about three, who looked a lot like a little boy who comes into my coffee shop each day. I managed to get my arms around the older one, because he was taller, and pull him out and onto the platform, and then I screamed as the train rushed up and over all the other people on the platform, who were also screaming and scrambling. I began to sob hysterically, clutching the little boy, but when the train passed, there were no bodies, and people were very annoyed with me, telling me that the people in the platform weren't real - they were "models" which I came to understand meant some sort of holographic projection provided by the MTA. I couldn't figure out why they would project such a horrifying thing, and got the sense it was for entertainment, but hoped it was for training or something. I was disturbed that the little boy I had pulled out of the tracks remained flesh and blood in my arms. Though the other "victims" hadn't died, I felt that if I had pulled them out of the tracks they would have lived, like the flesh-and-blood-holograph child in my arms crying for his non-existant brother.
Lovely way to start the day. At least I was very glad to wake up.
I do believe that dreams are powerful psychoanalytical tools, but haven't much of a clue on how to decode this one. I think that this obsessive subway dreaming has to do with the fact that to me subways are
1.) Really freaking scary
1a. Dark
1b. Confusing
1c. Underground
1d. Damp
1e. Containing rats and lunatics
1f. Crowded and claustrophobia-inducing
1g. Fast and deadly
1h. Nothing between you and the fast deadliness but a yellow painted line and your own free-will not to hurtle yourself onto the tracks in a sudden unpremeditated fit of craziness.
2.) The symbol of my independance (i.e. adulthood)
2a. Nearly unlimited mobility (choices)
2b. Self support (gets me to job = freedom/responsibility)
So just that would be enough to keep me and a shrink busy for a few years. Why this is suddenly so urgent that I dream about it every night is unclear.
I had the latest in the series last night. I was on an oddly shaped, crowded subway platform. The train was going somewhere unusual. I can't remember where it was, but I remember that being a part of the dream - as if it was a subway shuttle that only went to one particular place. I was unnerved by the fact that so many people were waiting in the subway track pit instead of on the platform. I figured that since it was a special train, there must be some sort of special warning system that allowed people to wait down there, freeing up space on the platform. It bothered me, though. Suddenly, we heard the train coming and everyone on the tracks started freaking out, and trying to climb out of the way.
I lunged forward to help, despairing of getting them all out in time. Closest to me were two little boys, one about six years old and one about three, who looked a lot like a little boy who comes into my coffee shop each day. I managed to get my arms around the older one, because he was taller, and pull him out and onto the platform, and then I screamed as the train rushed up and over all the other people on the platform, who were also screaming and scrambling. I began to sob hysterically, clutching the little boy, but when the train passed, there were no bodies, and people were very annoyed with me, telling me that the people in the platform weren't real - they were "models" which I came to understand meant some sort of holographic projection provided by the MTA. I couldn't figure out why they would project such a horrifying thing, and got the sense it was for entertainment, but hoped it was for training or something. I was disturbed that the little boy I had pulled out of the tracks remained flesh and blood in my arms. Though the other "victims" hadn't died, I felt that if I had pulled them out of the tracks they would have lived, like the flesh-and-blood-holograph child in my arms crying for his non-existant brother.
Lovely way to start the day. At least I was very glad to wake up.
I do believe that dreams are powerful psychoanalytical tools, but haven't much of a clue on how to decode this one. I think that this obsessive subway dreaming has to do with the fact that to me subways are
1.) Really freaking scary
1a. Dark
1b. Confusing
1c. Underground
1d. Damp
1e. Containing rats and lunatics
1f. Crowded and claustrophobia-inducing
1g. Fast and deadly
1h. Nothing between you and the fast deadliness but a yellow painted line and your own free-will not to hurtle yourself onto the tracks in a sudden unpremeditated fit of craziness.
2.) The symbol of my independance (i.e. adulthood)
2a. Nearly unlimited mobility (choices)
2b. Self support (gets me to job = freedom/responsibility)
So just that would be enough to keep me and a shrink busy for a few years. Why this is suddenly so urgent that I dream about it every night is unclear.
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