She chose to kill love on New Year's day.

She had felt the love leaving her slowly, as through a mortal wound, therefore this choice was merely a formality. The clock had struck twelve and a chord within. She glanced up from the melée, found the hands standing perfectly in time, and noted her decision with simple acceptance. It was like a death passing in the night- a thing unnoticed. She chose to kill love so that it would stop killing her. New Year's was simply the day upon which it occured, for she did not believe in resolutions, like man could change the turns of destiny through the difference in one second. She peered down at her hands, inspecting the wrists, uncertain that the feeling of suicide inside did not have an outward effect. She would live another year alone because it was better this way.
It was better to be destroyed by one's own hands.

Please, Not Again

Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh please not again
four summers, three springs, one fall
I thought we had said it all
Insult to injury just for you to say
I never wanted it this way
Actions are cheap, words full of gold
How ever did we get so old?
Accents change but it means the same
You've got a new look on an old frame
Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh God, not again
All the suddent I just can't take
The consequences I didn't make

"A crumbling apartment, a double bed made single by intention, a harsh open bulb picking out striking features in her face. Her wide cheeks driven wider in the cold utterance of the one word that has no real explanation. It seems caught in her throat, a sharp wishbone dragging on the soft flesh inside her neck. What protrudes is not the fine point of devotional light intended, but rather a feeble cough. “I really love you.” He knows that this is not true, but lust and his own devotion blind his rationality. And furthermore he knows she is not lying. She believes she does love him"



--This is an excerpt from a short story my friend is writing and he asked me to proofread. I found it particularly beautiful.

"Everything that you do makes me want to die
Oh, I just told the biggest lie"



-Elliot Smith

The Mysterious Barricades

Me but all you and the inevitable argument against words.
The line that fits wrong in all the right places suffocating
Me! but all you and the inevitable dread laying in letters
The implication that bursts and consumes: a fire of meaning
Me? but all you and the inevitable braeking of silent sounds
The slogan that punctuates and punctures hopeful dreaming of
All you but me. and the inevitable pondering and turns of phrase
The relief that is brief like shifting of pains across me it's just not
Me. but all you and the inevitable alms parading in fake certainty
The giving that is always taking a morsel of truth in a bed of lies
Me, utterly completely myself but turning slowly into all you.
The question that answers: Me but all you but still me? I am

If I can't catch you when you fall, I'll jump with.

--mgl

This is all that's left
(scraping paper to document)
I've packed a change of clothes
'cause it's time to move on.

Photobooth, Death Cab for Cutie

King of the World

When I was a child, there was a popular saying to bullies. When a kid stepped out of line and tried to boss someone else around we would say, "Who made you King of the world?” Yesterday I asked myself that. It was a Wednesday, innocently enough. Wednesday is the day that all the English Assistants have the day off so we usually plan on doing something as a group. I met up with two of my friends, Bob and Steve, and they suggested that we catch the new Tom Cruise film: Lions for Lambs. It sounded good enough and once I found out that it was to be shown in 'version originale', I was doubly excited. We purchased our tickets, a bag of M&Ms, and settled in to have a good time. About ten minutes in to the film, I started to sense something was wrong. The thought struck me: When did Tom Cruise start making propaganda? The film was 92 minutes of political bullshit. The same line that the Reps have been toying since the beginning of the war: give us a chance, it is ‘us’ against ‘them’, and the media are the ones losing the fight. I walked away with more than a stomach ache from the M&Ms.
I walked away ashamed.
I was sitting next to two Brits, in a room of French people and I just wanted to hide. As I watched the drama and rhetoric unfold, I felt like I was listening to an old story that I heard too many times before. The movie was meant to inspire Americans to be more patriotic and to serve our country.
It was meant to inspire.
I was inspired. I was inspired to start going to Peace rallies when I get home. I was inspired to convince my friends to actually register to vote so that their words would be heard. I was inspired to change something because our attitudes in the states just aren't cutting it. This week France has been crippled by transportation, student, and civil servant strikes. I find it utterly annoying and sometimes frivolous but at least they are fucking doing something. We sit back and don't give a shit about what is happening in our country. We are wealthy and blessed beyond imagine and we cannot even see it. We walk around patting ourselves on the shoulder while there is horrendous poverty and education next door. We say we are so proud to be American when we don't even understand what the word means.
So who made us King of the World?
We did
We did with our inflated ego trips and propaganda films.
We did with our righteous attitudes and God Bless America signs
We did with our bombing and occupation of foreign countries.

I love America but sometimes I really hate being American.

Yours are the Words

Shadows dancing slow,
the sound of air between.
Taste of a memory:
an imaginary dream

The quiet crescendo
falling back in my mind.
The taste of a memory.
The ruins of a sign.

A play on words
waking up into mourning
tastes of a memory:
ghosts of a good thing.

Beside myself inside
something more than you.
A taste of a memory-
one i once knew

The quiet crescendo,
a sound of air between.
Tastes like a memory.
The ghost of a good thing.

Love Letter to a Blog

It has been a long time since last we spoke but I am thinking of you, I want you to know. Before, words would flow out of me, their only hinderance the speed of my keystrokes. Now there is silence. I want to reach out to you again and tell you all about the life I have been living but my words are now lost. I am without a home or country but I feel firmly rooted in place. My longing for independence is gone as I find myself alone. What could I telll you about this alien land? It is cold here. My bed is empty and my heart is slowly following its lead. I want to be happy, and I have found joy, but my young soul is aging every day. No longer do I feel the sheer abandonment of youth but, rather, the cold practicality of wisdom. I want to be stupid and reckless but there are things I love greater than my selfish need.
I love the sense of accomplishment.
I love a well-rested body and a clear head.
I love the moments of silent reflection that last for hours.
I love knowing exactly what I want
I hate not having it
I have not written in a long time but I want you to know I am thinking of you. I need you to know there is something here that I cannot say but one day I will. I will tell you everything, just give me the time.

a name

you are

more than

you are

a name

maybe there was a moment before but now i am unsure that surely there would have been a moment before of that i am sure.

lyrics run around my head but come to nothing. they look forward to your looks again

The Only Ones


you look too familiar to be wrong
let me find a moment
let me find a face
dark eyes, dark hair
looks that need a song....
the substances moved through our veins
you were the king and i was the queen

My Story is that I am Me

There has been a story brewing in my soul. Lines pass through me, ghosts of thought that cannot be adequately expressed or understood. Where does a story begin? Is a story created or merely found? Can we remain open to the universe of life, open for the fabled muse to enter in and guide our minds through the wandering storylines?

Where do you begin a story? I suppose where every story, every life, begins- I will tell you of the day of my birth. But that is not truly where it all began is it? There is a moment to which we can point and know that at this second we were created but there is a history to our creation. There is a story that began with my parents, and before that their parents, and before that and before that. It is the story we are born into.
Man's original sin in lyrical form.
What story was I born into? It is the story that has shaped my every thought and action. I am fully aware that at twenty-two years old I am far from my own person. I have tried to be. I have abstained from various vices of flesh and spirit to create an indepence that can assuredly be mine but I have failed. I am who I am. I am the product of generations of love, hate, knowledge, and dreams. I am a child of the sixties that was born in the eighties. I have lived many lives and died to each of them. I am twenty-two and the most invincible mortal being I know.

I am me and that is my story.

i want to write so much but it is hard to keep switching between french and english. i feel as though my english gets worse as my french gets better.

so i have developed a new language......... frenglish.... a mixture of french and english that is always in my head as i try to decipher between french and english constantly. if people tell you that they speak english everywhere then you should call them a liar.... preferably quite loudly whilst pointing your finger accusingly and holding something that is burning.

i tried to upload a picture but it didn't work.......darn free internet computer!!!!!

UPDATE:

I was worried that I wouldn't be able to handle this day when it finally came. Today, I will be taking my LSAT at 8am and then flying to Paris at 5pm. By tomorrow night, I will be settling into my new home for the next eight months. All of that to say that I am unsure when I will be able to blog again. Hopefully, I will have some new insight when I do get back. If it takes time, don't lose hope! Good things come to those who wait...

Light Years Away

It's almost like you had it planned.
It's like you smiled and shook my hand and said,
"hey, I'm about to screw you over big time"
What was I supposed to do?
I was stuck inbetween you and a hard place
We won't talk about the hard place

I don't blame you anymore
that's too much pain to store
it left me half dead inside my head
and, boy, looking back I see that i'm not the girl I used to be
when I lost my mind
It saved my life

It's how you wanted it to be
It's like you played a joke on me
I lost a friend in the end
I think I cried for days
Now that seems light years away
I'm never going back to who I was

I don't blame you anymore
that's too much pain to store
It left me half-dead inside my head
Boy, looking back I see: I'm not the girl I used to be
When I lost my mind
You saved my life

I think I cried for days
Now that seems light years away
I'm never going back to who I was

That life seems light years away...


Mozella

Look Mommy, It's an Evangelical!!!


I read this recently and found it to be quite an accurate description of the evangelical faith these days. For those who know me well, you know that my unfavorable opinion of the church is not a new insight. Over the past few years, I have come to question the glamorization of the christian faith. The large projection screens, small orchestras, and stadium seating begins to feel like a show that all have gathered to watch each sunday. We are fed our daily bread, repackaged in a more appealing way because the plain stuff just doesn't cut it anymore, and then we go out into the week filled with the good feelings that boosted our soul as the singers and orchestra reached their crescendo. As lost souls come forward to recommit week after week, I begin to wonder how genuine all this pomp and pageantry truly is. Even in my holiest FCA Presidential days, I would get the feeling there was something missing in the equation. We were livin' for the lord and saving souls for the cross...yet... the words, the actions, and the endless tracks being passed out on city streets never seemed to change a thing. We were filling an empty world with bright caricatures of Jesus and three step guides to salvation.

-----------------------------------------------------

"We are distinctively unspiritual people, by and large. Individualistic to a fault in many ways, yet looking for our churches and pastors to provide spiritual experience as a commodity. We criticize Catholic rosaries and visual spiritual aids, yet have a multi-million dollar chain store stuffed with Christian trinkets and merchandise in every mall. We buy and sell spiritual experience shamelessly.

If our Catholic friends were charging $50 to come to a mass at the local stadium, we’d all be shocked, but the major CCM groups make millions from tours and record sales. Even Osteen sells seats to hear his vapid talks. Tetzel was the bad guy in the reformation, but it’s among evangelicals that Paula White, Joel Osteen, Creflo Dollar and Joyce Meyer proliferate and profit from the devotion of the Christian public; all because they promise genuine spiritual experience. I haven’t seen any Catholic teachers openly promising a dollar return on your financial giving lately. Evangelicals have enough such con-artists posing as ministries to fill several television channels. I loathe indulgences, but I’ll take them over the promise to get rich by way of Jesus.

It is among evangelicals that one can write literally endless books promising more, more, more and more spiritual experience. We are Experiencing God, but we still want Our Best Life Now and our Purpose Driven Life courtesy of the Prayer of Jabez. We all know the next 7 easy steps to Being a Better You is in the mail. Christian consumerism is just one witness to the state of our spirituality. There are many others. Ministerial burnout. Pornography addiction. Divorce. Prayerlessness. Church hopping. Sexual promiscuity. Rampant materialism. Pastoral turnover. Addiction to fashion, sports, pets, opinions. Hours spent in front of video game screens, staring at web sites, reading MySpace, talking to our friends on the cell, saying nothing.

And then we’ll go to church on Sunday and hear the minister say the LOST are living empty lives and don’t have the joy of the Lord. It’s a good thing the few lost folks in our churches are too polite not to laugh out loud.

"http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/post-evangelicals-and-the-path-of-catholic-spirituality

Thoughts on Dial-Up

I've been visiting my folks in the mountains of tennessee for the past week. They have internet but it is dial-up, thus quite slow. I forgot my iPod and Audacity to Hope seems a bit too much to read at times, so I am left alone to my thoughts a lot. I try not to let this happen too much, because if I do, I know I will begin to stress about either France or my LSAT. I also might think too much of my friends. This is where the hurt is now. For some reason, the pain of leaving seems far greater than it did two years ago when I boarded a plane for England. My number and depth of relationships has grown enormously and I can't help but be saddened at the thought of leaving all of these wonderful people behind.

There's the love that could have been
The friend who always listened
The one who always laughed
The pondering soul that drove me
together, they make up my past

There are days I wonder if I really will have the courage to make all of my dreams come true. I begin to think of the day when I will look around me and know that I have made it to the place I always dreamt I would be. I wonder what that day will look like.

I have effectively chosen Washington College and am waiting for them to choose me. This will mean that I will leave Texas behind. The thought sobers me greatly, because inside I know that I am only as content as the amount of love that surrounds me. In a way I am thankful that this is a choice I have made by myself; my eyes are the only ones I will have to hold accountable. Yet the truth is that I only walk away from the things I love. Somewhere in my young mind it started to make sense that if I walked away first then I could never be left. It's a pattern that follows me to this day.

People praise my traveling spirit but I tell them there is no other way I can be. I am bound by this restless soul that spurs me forward at the very whisper of ritual or normalcy. I see people content in their bubble and I envy beyond belief. I can only find joy in the small things when I know those things have a time limit, a forseeable end.

It's getting too late and too personal, but i'm breaking and it hurts. If there is one thing that drives my creativity it is the darkness that our souls fall into at times.

"I've got a million words but a single sentence short of a storyboard"
--A Piece I Threw Away

www.myspace.com/dillionchevalier

In the Quiet Places

Matthew 6:1-8

1 “Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your father who is in heaven.
2 “So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by en. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full. 3 “But when you give to the poor do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving will be in secret; and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you. 5 “When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full. 6 “But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you. 7 “And when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words. 8 “So do not be like them; for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

Kathy Griffin is being censored for comments she made that were found offensive. She is quoted as saying “A lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus."
She went on to make some other comments but I found this one particularly interesting. Our culture is saturated with Christianity. There are those who would go so far as to say that America is a “God’s country”. I don’t follow this line of reasoning. Generally because I believe that God is far bigger than national boundaries. Also, considering the fact that I frequently leave and many times don’t wish to be a part of this country, I find it hard to believe that an omniscient God would not rather choose the coast of Italy as a suitable place to call home.

I mean, seriously.

As I read her words, I was reminded of the scripture mentioned above. “When you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father.” Last weekend I attended church with my aunt. I had promised her that I would attend a service with her at her church before I left. Last weekend was my last in Livingston, so it fell upon that Sunday to the great delight of my Aunt. As I sat in her small evangelical Christian church, I began to wonder why it was that I had waited so long to come here. The people weren’t too bad and the preacher was actually quite nice. Then, 10 minutes into the opening prayer, it hit me (no, not the floor because I feel asleep after ten minutes of praying): I like God in the quiet places. There’s something about these loud hot-air preachers that are going to storm the gates of hell if you will repeat Jesus’ name ten times with them that really get under my skin. When I imagine prayer, I am in a room alone, with the door closed, quiet before the almighty. What is the purpose of prayer? Do we believe that the “prayer of a righteous man availeth much (James 5:16)”? If we do not pray for something, will it not happen? Or is prayer a mode of communication between our soul and its creator? If this is true, should we pray in public? Would you put your phone on speaker when you are talking to the one you love?

So, back to the beginning. I would like to think that if I won an Oscar, or some other note-worthy award, I wouldn’t say a thing. I would stand up there tell everyone that really it was the director that made me look so good and then whisper a quiet thank you to the lord above.

Chapter 8

The Night before the Night

October, 2004

The hot water streams over my face mixing with the sweat and tears that had bathed it earlier. The water is splashing over onto my matted hair but I can’t muster the strength to begin to wash it. I could stand here for hours, letting the scalding rain shower my closed eyes and open mouth. It hurts but I’m not sure what ‘it’ is. The drive to my shower had been one that did not require thought, I had simply known that this is what I needed most of all. I place my head against the cold tile, letting the water fall onto my neck and shoulders.
“Damn it” I scream this word over and over in my head but only a single utterance slips out.
I roll my forehead back and forth against the tile considering what my steps will be when I walk out of this shower. There is a moment when you are the only one privy to a secret. At that moment you realize that if you simply stand still and do nothing, it might remain your secret and yours alone for forever.
I could still feel the ghosts of his touch on my skin- brief flashes of memory that remind me exactly what happened last night. I want to be washed away in the shower’s strong current and forget this day and all that led to it.

You see, the story just doesn’t fit. There’s no quality to the truth that makes it worth telling. I am staring at my computer monitor trying to summon the strength to explain the night before the night and I…can’t. There’s that ugly truth that throws itself out in front of the crowd because its grotesque nature cannot be kept silent…and then there’s real life. This is real life. I would like to think there was a breaking point. A moment of total despair at which point I jumped back into the arms of the one that I loved the most but it wasn’t like that. I wanted life to be like something I could see on a movie screen but all that surrounded me were hollow scripts and vapid characters. In the very pit of my selfishness, I at least knew enough to understand this one truth: that there is no fairytale and if you try to create one then you have to live with it. You have to live with life after the fairy tale. I should have broken down. I should have cried on my knees and begged him to say. Better yet, I should have never said a word at all. I could have lived that perfect lie -life- for years. I would have been happy. I know I would have. Yet the story just doesn’t fit. I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I try and try to find the words to say it all. I try to find the perfect package, to present my life in neat rows typed on a clean white paper, and I come up with nothing. Like my prayers, my words are empty.

I glance at the clock and realize I’m going to be late for the taxi again. Sarah is always late and taxi drivers are notorious for leaving if you aren’t at the pickup point so I grab my bag and run out of my dorm room. My bag is light with the shorts and tank tops I had packed in anticipation for the Spanish weather. England is known for its terrible weather but nothing can prepare you for the all encompassing sadness of the low slung clouds and damp air. I stop suddenly to see Sarah hailing down the taxi on the corner in front of the chapel. It’s strange how best friends surprise you right at the moment you need it most. I run over to the other side of the taxi and jump in the back.
“Passport?”
“Yep. Plane tickets?”
“Yes ma’am”
Our exchange had become a ritual over the passing months as we jetted to different countries in search of new adventure.
“Any men this time?”
“Yeah…well, let’s just kiss…no bringing anyone home. I don’t trust the Spaniards.”
“Werd”
Again, our exchange continues under the curious eye of the taxi driver. We always set out our parameters for men before we leave. This way if either one of us gets too drunk the other knows the guidelines that have already been set up. Sarah has saved me from way too many mistakes and I like to think I’ve saved her from a few.
I am settled into my seat on the train headed to Liverpool Lime Street before I realize I left my computer on, my heart in plain view, and my door wide open.

Black River, Dear Savior, Sweet Whiskey

You're gonna take my bottle, my bible, my mess?
You're gonna take all of my empty and my loneliness?
Gonna take all the sadness inside of me?
Gonna take it all and set me free?

--Amos Lee

That Crazy Clare, She's Planning Again....


A lot has been going on lately. My father was in for a visit. He was supposed to be here for ten days but he had to leave early this morning beause my step-mom fell from the second story of their house in Tennessee. She shattered her ankle and hip and broke her shoulder. For those who do pray, I appreciate your concern.

I was thankful to be with my dad for the few days he was here. My brother came down this weekend so we could all hang out as a big happy family. We sat around on the lazy saturday afternoon and talked about politics and religion. Yeah, my family is like that. We're all philosophers in our own right and very much enjoy hearing the thought processes of one another.

It was also a healing weekend. My father and I have had our ups and downs over the years. Mostly starting with when I was born and he went through a mid-life crisis. He has been stepping up to the plate lately and I've been relying on him more and more. He even said he would take me to visit my dream school in D.C. when I'm visiting him later this month.

My dream school- I had heard of this school before but hadn't researched it fully until lately. Washington College of Law has a program where you spend the first two years in D.C. at the law school there and then spend two years at the University of Paris X-Nanterre. Upon graduation and passage of the bar, you will be certified to practice law in D.C. and the European Union (and possibly in Africa, Asia, and South America). Obviously, to me, the perfect program. But it is another commitment. I'm already looking at leaving and this will mean leaving again but for a much longer time. I've heard it all before- do it while you are young and unmarried. I am heading their advice obviously but I'm hoping that one day I will slow down because in the deepest part of me I do want a family and a sense of home. I've decided to apply Earl Decision (for anyone who doesn't know that means I have a better chance of getting in but, if I do, the decision is binding). I started working on my application's personal statement last night- pretty good if I don't say so myself.

Also, I got my visa and plane ticket, which means all my paperwork is done!

So that's the update. Other than that, I'm doing great. For those who know me- you know I'm happiest when I have my five-year plan ironed out.

Him

The cold truck cab did little to prevent the sharp bite of winter. She had chosen to turn off the heat to conserve gas and, more importantly, to prevent others from noticing her. The initial flood that had filled the tiny chapel was overwhelming. Apple-cheeked youngsters rushed in to greet one another as their parents waved to the neighbors that had been missed since last Sunday. Their happiness was evident on their smiling faces but to her it seemed unbearable. She wanted so very badly to be a part of their charade of normalcy but she knew that if she were to walk through the heavy oak doors, she would surely be spotted as a fake. So she watched. She watched with great intent as the crowd thinned and the last child ran in through the doors, making sure to catch the beginning of Sunday school just in time. She had scanned the parking lot for his car but it was absent. Had he fallen out of favor too? She knew it wasn’t as simple as that and yet… she wished it were. There just wasn’t a way to untangle the two. The night on the beach and her vision of heaven were far too close together. She pressed the key back into the ignition. One day she would walk through those doors but today was not that day.


*I don't know where this story is going...I might edit to incorporate into the original story. I am a believer that real art is not created, but found. I found this story tonight. It's a part of me that needed to be told...not tomorrow but right now.

An Honest Book

I want to apologize to the Blog community for letting things get a little personal on here. I should have considered the consequences of participating in a 'Blog fight'. As I sat at dinner with my friend last night and related the story to her, I realized how ridiculous this all is. Writing a long diatribe to accuse me of wrongdoings is ridiculous and responding to it with folksy wisdom is even more foolish...

Hopefully I can stand in front of my friends as I am, without worrying about the misconceptions that come from the written word. It’s hard to remember that these Blogs are more than spoken words said in the heat of the moment; they are testaments to our feelings and thoughts that are open for everyone to analyze. Maintaining your dignity in the online community is just as important as and sometimes harder than in the real world. In our face-to-face conversations and interactions we are granted a certain level of leniency. I feel this is missing here.

So, again, I apologize.



Editor’s note: I used the title Self-Defense because of the experience I have had in the courtroom. Many people waive their right to an attorney when they believe they have nothing to hide- this is how I feel. I am and always have been an open book, maybe a little hard to read at times, but honest none the less.

Put Your Link into It

"All the while, the middle class sits around debating Gay Marriage, or whatever else is popular like it is going to affect the fate of the universe, completely forgetting that the have to scratch and claw for every single thing they have as the rich just breeze through life. The rich may have worked hard to get rich, but that does not allow them to force the bulk of America's taxes on the rest of us"

http://musingsfromatree.blogspot.com

Self- Defense

When I was living in Lancaster, I dated a young British man named Richard (yeah I’m going to talk about an ex). After a couple of weeks he decided that he didn’t want to date me anymore. I listened to him calmly as we sat together on my dorm room bed. I cannot remember his argument exactly but it centered somewhere around the fact that I was leaving to go back home in a couple of months. After he had stated his case, I told him that I thought he was right and that we should break-up. He sat there confused. He had expected a protest, I assume, and my acquiescence had startled him into thinking that I didn’t really want to date him at all. You see- as I calmly stated to him- that was not the case. I believe that if there is a point where you think that you should break up with, or no longer date, a person and if you believe in this reason strongly enough to tell them about it, then you should, most definitely, end the relationship. Because, if there can be a doubt in your mind strong enough to start the dialogue of a breakup then it will assuredly lead to one whether immediately or many years down the road. My statements had the strange effect of changing his mind and making him realize that he didn’t want to break up with me at all.

Three weeks later we broke up.

The point is this- sometimes we don’t take our own advice. There have been many times when I have decided that I shouldn’t be dating someone for a particular reason but I continue because they (or me) talked me back into it.

Reasons don’t just go away.

They also don’t just appear and acting like they did is only lying to yourself.


*As I slept on my brother’s couch Saturday night, I thought of this story. Birthdays usually don’t have a mental effect, but, somehow, at 22 I can say, ‘things are changing’.

Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can’t help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal
Lately, I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there with open arms and open eyes…
It's driven me before, it seems to be the way that everyone else get around
Lately, I'm beginning to find that when I drive myself, my light is found

You are My Favorite

Inspired by:
Padraig’s My Girl-

On those days that I admit to myself that I want a guy, I began to wonder what shape that fabled man might take. What color would his perfectly tinted eyes be? What shade of hair would I find between my fingers? What would we talk about as we laid on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon? I would want him to be a writer, or at least some type of artist, because, as my father once told me, only one artist can understand another. I’m mostly over the physical characteristics, though a dark brunette can still make me stop and stare. He would be successful, or at least driven, because there is still that part of me that can’t stand mediocrity. We would have a weekly date of wine and conversation. I would catch him watching me as I made cookies, with a tender look in his eyes and I would know that he loved me more than he could have ever imagined. He would let me put my feet on his while I am sleeping because they get cold at night. He would understand that sometimes I have to run away to know what I am coming back to; that there is a part of me that is restless and it has nothing to do with him at all. I would call him by a nickname that his mother had used for him as a child and he wouldn’t mind at all. If I told him that I loved him more he would respond “I know” and I would act hurt so that he would kiss me on the forehead. We would drive out to the country so we could sit on the hood of his car and listen to the lyrics of songs while we counted the stars. If we got lost, we would remember all the details and relate them in funny voices to friends who weren’t there. And every night, before we fell asleep, we would push the hair back from my eyes and say, “you are my favorite.”

Letters from the Other Side


The edges that had once defined a star so bright that she closed her eyes now cut her with their strength of character. Wounds that were left untreated grew greater until the poison and hurt were too much to begin to bear. She forced her pained eyes to open and to gaze at this star that had now become her enemy. A cool gaze met in reply that could watch for days but never understand the sight. The twins in black converse shoes and blonde ponytails that bobbed as they giggled at jokes made secret by the depth of their experiences. Could it ever be again? How does one break up with a best-friend?

Abortion, Welfare, Genocide, and everywhere in between

“These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, "Business as usual." But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story. Their faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.” --- Life of Pi

There has been a shift in our country. The people have moved away from the leaders and whether it is from distrust or displeasure, the evidence of this shift is blatant as we watch the circus that has become the Presidential Election. The contenders are numerous and have begun their fights earlier than many have ever seen. We are already looking to the future with such unabashed joy that people have chosen their favorites for president a full year before the election. All this is to say that there is a shift. The world has become smaller through technology and information has been made readily available to the public like never before. Our generation is educated on the world but with knowledge comes responsibility. This past weekend, I was with my mother and grandmother. I asked my grandmother if Americans knew about the Concentration Camps in WWII. She said they had heard rumors but no one knew the extent until the American soldiers opened the gates of the camps and saw for themselves the horrors of the Nazi regime. Fast forward to present day, me sitting on the couch and watching CNN. There is a genocide going on in Darfur and we are doing nothing about it. America- the land of the free and the defender of democracy- doesn’t give a crap that thousands of Africans are dying by the hands of their own government. Oh wait, actually we do give a crap. You see, good ol’ George has called this government out in meetings – while they sit in the back and laugh at his condemnations- but the problem is this: They have information on terrorists and somewhere along the line information about terrorists is more important than preventing genocide.
But that’s not where my rant ends- If you were worried that I would leave out the good faithful people of the Church, rest assured I have condemnation for them too. Where is the church on this? Why aren’t we doing something about it or at least praying about it? When I feel frustrated and lash out at the newspapers- something that happened yesterday morning- my aunt calmly says the only thing we can do is pray about it. Even more, the only thing we can hope for is a Christian President because he will know the right thing to do. Bullshit. A smart president will know the right thing to do. A president with good advisors will know the right thing to do. A president that cares more about the people than oil would know the right thing to do. Christians believe their purpose is to save souls, but what souls are there to save if people die? This reminds me of a dichotomy I should not bring up:

Abortion and Welfare.

Say it together.

Christian right- very much against abortion and welfare. Now, why, might you ask, would they want to save the babies of woman who can’t afford to have the babies in the first place? We shouldn’t give out free birth control because that contributes to promiscuity and we shouldn’t have abortion because they shouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place and we shouldn’t support welfare because people shouldn’t be having kids they can’t afford….

I just gave myself a headache.

So, I can already see the comments on this one. I know I shouldn’t be looking at people; they aren’t perfect only Christ is, but when did that become a scapegoat to personal responsibility. When did the fact that a reincarnated divine being living a mystic existence in your soul allow you to be exempt from caring about people, or, even better, pretending to care. This is why my mother is one of the few devout I can bare to stand. She does care and she goes multiple times a year to places across the world or to her next door neighbor and proves that she cares.

All this to say that I think we need to act more. I don’t know how to begin but I think that if the Church wanted to do something to change the world they could begin by spending less time on evangelizing and spend more money on the needy.

There. Done.

Something Good......

"Obviously I believe the RCC is true. If I didn't, I wouldn't be Catholic. For me, it represents the fullness of Truth, insofar as we're able to perceive it in this life. Other people find their Truth with a capital "t" in other places. If my path is true for me, and yours is true for you, maybe we're seeing little pieces of something bigger than either of us. I like the fact that Catholic theology allows for this, and at the heart of the matter, salvation and who God decides to give that grace to is a complete gift and mystery. Asking a Catholic if they're saved will probably get you a puzzled look in response. The right answer is, "I don't know!" or "God only knows." There's no positive assurance, but there's hope in God's limitless mercy. This is stuff that keeps me coming back, Sunday after Sunday through all the bullcrap people like to sling at each other in the name of orthodoxy."

http://bigumuse.blogspot.com/2007/05/cfoyc-part-3-salvation-other-religions.html

In regards to France:

I feel as though I’m running full speed towards the edge, waiting for the moment when I sprout wings.

In regards to Home:

Like an outfit that doesn’t quite fit and isn’t your color, I feel out of place and, at times, blaringly so.

In regards to Love:

I don’t want another goodbye. I don’t know how to be genuine without being cliché and I don’t know how to hope without being naïve.

In regards to Family:

God, I miss them already. England showed me what I’ve got and now I’m realizing what exactly it is that I am leaving behind.

In regards to Friends:

I couldn’t be happier. I am closer to more people than I have been in my entire life and I love it.

In regards to Life:

My friend Keil said it best this weekend: “Things are amazing right now. In fact, they are so amazing it is making me nervous. I have never felt so good and I can’t help but wait to be brought back down to reality.”

I don’t have time to wait for the other shoe to drop. I am jumping in to the life I’ve been waiting for 21 years to live. I am happy and I am content, but most importantly- I have peace. I feel as though I'm traveling down the road of life; I don't have all the directions but I know I'm traveling in the right direction.

"A mix of real life, story, poetry, and thoughts from one smart cookie."

I'm beaming....

Thank you Daniel

Mon anniversaire

Seventeen and grubby knees outside the dorm room window on grass
That stained the dreams in adolescent heads and stars which burned
Closer than the sky had ever been with tiki torch lighting the way
Eighteen and pulling scabs on knees to feel the pains of growing
Heat with air pressing in tight watching you walk backwards
From a heart that bled all its years forever and a day today
Nineteen and hello, goodbye blink open eyes seeing it all
In front and behind the door and this girl then a woman
Wanting more but wondering what all they would say
Twenty and flying oceans dream in gingerbread castles
Filled with a bubbly word it drank on vodka and novelty
Live life watched only from distance a movie screen away
Twenty-one and crash American dreams create kaleidoscope
The twist and shape your colors bend the lights in my foresight
The perfect memory where ought and naught all that is left to say
Twenty-two and mirrored numbers meet to watch I fly ocean again
The balanced title that devises even days and nights ahead in perfect
Symmetry to whisper après moi a woman that needs not break or fray

So.......

I'm working on a new chapter but I've committed to writing on this blog at least every other day- which I haven't decided is good or bad for my writing- but, either way, I'm going to write something now, because, well, it's that time again kidos.

*that has to be one of the longest sentences ever recorded by man....in fact, I'm sure it is.

Stuff I've been thinking about lately ( because I'm sure you want to know )

1. Whether I should stay in Europe forever or come back and go to Law School. Though, Pat thinks I should stay in europe, and since I sometimes confuse his with the voice of God, I'm leaning that way.

2. I've been working out ALOT lately...that and studying my LSAT material. In fact, it reminds me of the days when I focused on school and health because I was ambitious and driven; instead of now when I just live in a REALLY boring town.

3. I Feel Fine by the Riddlin Kids has been on repeat in my car. I'm not sure why exactly but I think it has something to do with a previous conversatin where I said "I'm fine being single" and he responded "No, you're not."
Who says that?!?!

4. I took pictures of my car to put up on the internet and since have been looking at them whilst at work. I think, "Damn that's a nice car". But that is how much I love Europe, I'm willing to sell it...Maybe God will see my anguish and give me both?!?! Please Pretty Please.

5. If you're still reading this you eithr think I'm EXTREMELY neurotic or that it is really really boring to work at a law office. It's usually the former but today a bit of the latter.

Mommy and Me

We are the same person separated by 41 years. Our physical similarities are obvious; we share the same blond hair and speckle-green eyes, but it is our personalities that are most similar. My mother is an adventurer- in every since of the word. She doesn’t find her happiness in routine or stability. She loves fiercely and gives dutifully. She approaches people unafraid; as though she has never known hurt before, but when you speak with her you quickly realize she has lived a long life of ups and downs.
In truth, I can only hope we are the same person separated by a 41 years.
When I first told her I was thinking of moving to France to work after I graduated she responded, “of course”. This weekend when I timidly told her that I was thinking that I wanted to stay overseas for longer than a year she responded, “I was wondering when you were going to tell me.” She knows and understands me so well that it amazes me at times. She is smart and quick, always looking for more information to learn and expand her horizons. She understands it all but there is one point where we stand at opposite ends of a chasm- religion.
My mother is a missionary. I know; I can’t believe it at times either. She travels to India and Haiti to work with orphans. That’s right- ORPHANS.
Mother Theresa is my mother and sometimes I don’t know what to do about it. I want so badly to talk to her about my own struggles with the church. I want to tell her that I’m trying; oh I’m trying, to understand how the Sunday-school stories and the newspaper speak of the same planet. That I’m trying to understand how “God told me” is a valid answer to any question when this is the same woman that never believed in using the phrase ‘Because I told you so”. She raised me to question and to pursue everything yet when it comes to Christianity she becomes docile and submissive. I want to understand why my mother has cried over her inability to speak in tongues. Why she has been made to feel less-than because she is unmarried and, well, a little weird. I want to love her and believe her with everything but my skepticism begins to creep in and I suddenly need more than a calm pat on the hand. I need more than her clear green eyes closed in prayer, but I’m going to keep trying because I want to believe again. I want to say “God told me”, just so I can have one ounce of assurance in my life. I want to lie in peace, enveloped in a love that is strong enough to break this wild horse.
I want to be the same person separated by 41 years.



*for clarification- My mother was 41 years old when I was born. She has led a very interesting life as a war activist/ labor union president/ free-loving hippie. She is finally doing what my friends have told me to do for years- she’s having a book written about her. She has asked me to write a chapter; something that will explain my perspective on her life. I’m not ready yet but hopefully I will be soon.

Well, I Remember
conversations #2

The air was warm and thick, the way East Texas summers are. The lazy atmosphere consumed even the sun during its nightly descent, as the golden rays seemingly basked them for hours. The crickets sang a chorus that complimented the silence that sat between them. Lovers that had once found comfort in every utterance were now separated by the immense time that had left their relationship fragile. The woman that now sat beside him was a mystery; her green eyes presented an enigma as they coldly gazed over the lake.
“You came to see me the other day.” His statement felt safe in the myriad of questions that surrounded him. He could see that her heart was full of them, questions of purpose and meaning. He felt his statement was feeble and lacking, but he concentrated his gaze on her face, looking vainly for a flicker of response.
“You came to see me and I wasn’t there.” This delicate dance was going to be slow. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, watching an unknown scene.
“No.” He was struck by the quiet but strong word that had materialized between them. Her face remained unchanged but her voice had been too definitive to be a figment. “You were there.” She turned to him slowly, but her eyes remained fixed ahead as she measured her words. “You were there and you left. I reached for you and…” Her eyes darted to her hands as she gathered the strength to go on. “…and you pulled back. You left. You were always the one that was there, quietly unassuming and reassuring with your constant love. Now…I don’t know you anymore.” Her words cut him deeply as her eyes finally looked into his. The emerald of her eyes had shifted into a hard jade. Her gaze fell back to her hands and a revelation suddenly gripped her mind. “I reached for you.” Her hand shot out at the precise moment she awoke alone in her bed. Her cry was filled with confusion, hope and despair, “oh God,” but silence was her only answer.

palms pressed firmly together
thoughts intertwined
I miss these moments with you
that exist only in my mind

Damn Lucky


Here’s the problem. I’ve got to be blown away. I mean, AMAZED. Then again, I have to be adored. The two don’t seem to mix. I mean, if I am truly amazed by a guy then what is the likelihood he will feel the same way about me? Whereas, if I am not amazed by the guy but he is amazed by me we will continue to play a charade where I keep going on date after date hoping that at some point I am amazed by him all the while knowing that even if I were to get into a relationship with this person I would not be happy because I would be constantly thinking about how they just do not blow me away.
Got it?
So maybe this is why I’ve been so utterly single for the past sixteen months unless you count the blip that was Kip, but I don’t (unless he does) -which I’m sure he doesn’t. So I am back to the beginning. I’ve got a bit of a problem and my friends are tired of hearing about it. One of my friends says I’m way too picky and I need to lower my standards and give someone a fucking chance.
“For Christsakes Clare, give him a fucking chance!”
And then my other friend, well she listens quite quietly and then responds “Well Clare you see it’s not really that big of a deal. It doesn’t really matter at all. Next week someone new will ask you out and you will replace this heartbreak with a new one. Don’t you see that you never have to be upset because there’s always a replacement? Well, at least for girls like you.”
You would think I didn’t have a heart. I can steal feel…whether it be for one or twenty.
(Whoa that sounds messed up)
Then my ex says “You’re damn lucky you’re pretty. You as annoying as hell and no one would put up with that sarcasm of yours if you weren’t so damn pretty.” And I think, shit he’s right. I am severely messed up and every day and date that goes by proves the point even further. I want to think it wasn’t always this way. Once, when asked how old I was the last time I was single, I responded…”I don’t know…12”. Yeah, it happened.
But through a dramatic course of events that involved one birthday, a chocolate pie, a Myspace page, and an extremely pissed-off Clare, I decided to take a break. I hung up my dancing shoes. I didn’t go on a single date for three months. Then there was New Years, some garbage-can punch, and one serious conversation in the bathroom. Again, I was left smarting.
Well, I made that birthday call again this year but left out the chocolate pie. As I sat down the phone, I looked at my best-friend (the one with the boyfriend) and we both said “What a difference a year makes”.
The point is that, I am still single and I’m OK. I’m moving to France in two months for a year abroad until I start law school. Honestly, I’m in love with my life right now. Do I wish there was someone to share it with? Sometimes, but more often than not, I am content.
At the end of the day, I’m still friends with all my exes (minus one), my friends ask for my advice on their relationships (so I must not be too messed-up), and my guy friends do wonderful things like tell me I’m the epitome of amazingness (I heart Pat).
You know, being the single friend isn’t so bad after all.

Remember it well
Conversations #1


She breathed in a sigh of relief and listened to the wood creak in response. Old wooden benches, laid down with piety, rubbed worn from trembling hands. “Remember us?” she spoke softly to him. “Remember us in this place, when I was young and you were so wise. Remember when you held me here and made me believe? I remember it well, my skin on fire with the warmth of your embrace; I can feel it now.

“Remember us?”

The sweat of her palm left a print on the antique wood, an unseen mark to her tightly closed eyes. Her memories plagued the moments that surrounded her, causing her fear of what she might see if her eyes were to open. The air around her was thick, warming her through her thin blouse.

“I know we can be together again if we just…”

She reached her hands out to touch him but only grasped the air. Her eyes opened in a flourish of despair and she was alone again. There were no accompanying palm prints to remind her of the presence she had felt so clearly next to her. There was no sound that could fill the void that permeated the dark wooden walls. Her eyes quickly pressed tightly together again but the words were gone. Her throat choked back a cry, the air whitened by the condensation in her warm breath. She placed her palms squarely on the altar, and lifted herself up from her knees. With her eyes squarely on the cross she turned and walked slowly out of the sanctuary.

Chapter 7
This Life

“The words of the American Declaration of Independence ring: right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is what America is about: the pursuit. Notice that the framers did not write that people had the outright right to happiness. No, that would have been far too easy. You see, America has become to be defined by this statement, this turn of phrase, which will promise you the chance to pursue all your wildest dreams, lest you achieve some, that you can began your pursuit over again. Europe is a continent defined by its history; America is defined by the lack of history. America is an idea. It was born out of an idea and has thrived upon many more. Philosophers believed the skies were higher in the United States. What was this open space used for? It was space for the mind, space for thought. When you begin to grasp the concept of the America, then you will begin to understand her and the literature that has been written about her.” Mr. Johnson’s emphasis has ended sharply on the word ‘her’. His hand poised in the air with the pointer and thumb pursed together as if to place the importance directly into our minds.
“Can you see it?” A voice from behind startles me as it whispers delicately in my ear. I turn around so quick that Christopher is forced to jerk back.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I had imagined it in my head but he had caught me off guard. I notice the strange feeling that is left in me at the surprise site of him, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and… love.
“I teach this class. Remember?” His voice is haughty but doesn’t explain why he chose to sit in the BACK of a class that he normally instructs but today has let a visiting American professor lead. “Oh, come on Maria, how long are you going to leave me in this state or purgatory?”
“What the bloody ‘ell are you on about?”
“This state of unknown, either we’re friends or we’re not. We’re together or we’re not…. I’ve missed you.” The fact that he is still behind me has prevented me from fully seeing his face on this last statement.
“Thank you class, I will be here all week helping Professor Woolsey.” All the students immediately began to pack their things and talk amongst themselves. That was one thing I always enjoyed about English classrooms, nobody started packing before the professor was finished.
“Christopher”, I say as I stand up to face him and put away my things, “I would prefer you not say those things unless you are in the position to do something about it. I have never said that we can’t be friends but it’s going to take some time for me.”
“Right, of course love, He leans in to wrap his arms around me and give me a kiss on my cheek, whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I want to melt and scream at the same time. Once, after we had broken up, Sarah saw him do this very same routine- a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her response had been, “I’d still be in love with him too if he gave me hugs like that.”
I didn’t have a response at the time, and there was none for me right now. I nodded and walked quickly out of the room…

“He’s an arrogant prick and you shouldn’t be talking to him.” Sarah’s statement is punctuated by her slamming beer. Ah beer and girlfriends, it’s what makes the world go round.
‘I just…”
“No, listen to me. Maria, I’m going to be honest with you. You might not want to hear this but it is the truth. You like a lot of people and a lot of people like you. It happens. You can find someone else. You know that. I know when you met Christopher, it was amazing but he’s not the end of your life. He’s not John.”
“Thanks” I mutter and turn to gaze out the window. The campus was beginning to weigh down on me.
“Besides, what the hell was that purgatory comment about? I told you not to date someone in the English department, they are entirely too melodramatic. Remember the time he thought you were dating Stephen and he text-messaged you: I want to expose your tangled web of lies. Give me a fucking break. Maria, you know what your problem is?”
“No, please tell me.” I smile at her but she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“You want excitement and depth. You want someone that is passionate yet analytical. You want this crazy mix of person that, well, just ends up being crazy. If you would settle down with a nice normal guy maybe you wouldn’t have all this drama. I mean, seriously, you should write a book about all these experiences. Are you listening to me?”
I was still gazing outside of our college pub, considering where else I could go to get away from here.
“Do you want to go to Spain?” I’m still looking at the passing college kids when I say this, asking myself and Sarah at the same time.
“What? I mean, Ok, but why?”
“I don’t really want this life”
My statement has caught us both off-guard. It was one of those moments when you speak the real truth and it scares the shit out of people. One of those moments that if you don’t change something immediately then you will know you lost your chance.
“Yeah… well right now it’s the only one you got.” We gaze at each other for a few moments to let the sentence sink in.
Slowly Sarah lifts her drink, “Finish your beer; we have a plane ticket to buy.”

"This is a day when truths will out..."

--Suicide of a Moderate Dictator, Elizabeth Bishop

This one is for the Ladies


Here something that’s been a long time coming. If it sounds like a rant, well, that’s because it is. If it sounds angry…hmm…it’s not. I’m not angry about myself. I have no one to be angry at. But I am angry for my friends and that’s who I am writing this note for: the lovely ladies.

Men, there’s a couple of things we need to get straight. First of all, men always complain about not understanding women. I concede this point. We are difficult creatures at times and many days don’t understand ourselves but let me be clear that difficult does not swing both ways. Guys are not hard to understand. Sorry guys, but your simple creatures. Now, does this make us any less frustrated with you? NO. Why? Because we do understand you. We know why you are annoying the hell out of us, we know it full well. We knew it was going to happen before it did and let me tell you- that is the most frustrating part of all.

Basically, there are three reasons why a guy does something. THREE. Nice and simple.

Selfishness- yeah I said it. You see, men, you don’t seem to have the ability to think beyond yourselves. You don’t realize that there are other people in the world, namely women, who are most likely pouring themselves out daily for you while you just walk along whistling Dixie and not giving a shit. Also, if a girl does do something for you, don’t reward her with “you’re the best girlfriend ever” and ‘you’re such a sweet girl”. We don’t like to be patronized. If you think we’re so sweet then return the favor instead of sitting back with the beer we brought you and thinking how in the world you wound up with someone as awesome as us.
Btw, yes she wants you to call. So just do it.

Stubbornness- Oh this is my personal favorite. The guy that says he never knows what you want and then when you tell them what you want they say they don’t want to be forced to do anything…. WHAT?!?!?! Here’s a clue: If a girl says she likes flowers, she WANTS flowers. If a girl says she wants to go to the movie, she WANTS to go to the movie. If a girl likes a particular chicken salad from a particular store, she WANTS you to pick up that particular chicken salad when you are there (and if she picks it up she doesn’t want you to eat it all- you know who I’m talking to). Which this last point supports my previous point about selfishness, its not that you guys are trying to be mean, you just don’t think about us.
Amendment: sometimes guys are mean but I think it usually can still be chalked up to a slow-witted, “I didn’t really think before I acted” attitude that most men have. But even if this is the case, ladies, please don’t take him back. You can fix a lot of things but you can’t fix stupid.

Two heads?!?! Here’s the old standby and maybe it is overused but I’ve met too many guys for which it is true. Just don’t. Don’t. And if you do, don’t think we can’t do the same thing. There are Samantha Jones’ out there and they do only want you for your sex. This is not most women. I have had friends ask me if it was ok for them to just want to sleep with a guy. I generally tell them yes, under the following conditions: That more is not expected (this is the part that most guys fail at, Just assume the girl wants more unless she tells you otherwise). And it’s what they truly want, if two people go into it knowing nothing is coming out then…well that’s their own business.

If there’s something I’m missing, then please comment back. But there is another point I would like to make.

Breasts

Say it

They aren’t that amazing

They sit on our chest and mostly impede the proper buttoning of our shirts.

And they are NOT….NOT…for you to stare at.

There are few things less annoying then when a girl is out on a date, looking cute for her BOYFRIEND and some dumbass waiter decides to stare at her boobs. They aren’t for you buddy and do you really not see the 6’4” guy next to us?
Don’t catch quick glances when we aren’t looking – we saw you do it anyways.
Don’t catch yourself drifting during an intense conversation- it makes you think you don’t care what we think about global politics.
And DON’T talk to them--- THEY DON’T TALK BACK.

There it is- my rant. Alas men, if all of this is to no avail and you decide to continue being a jackass just go do it somewhere where I don’t have to hear about it.


*Note: not all men are jackasses. I have some really great guy friends but I will stand by my old saying “You never know a guy until you date them”. A guy can be a perfectly wonderful creature into you place them a situation that requires forethought, commitment, and communication.

"It's a backwards attraction to your forward eyes
But you're so far-sighted that
you can't place trust in what or who you recognize. "

Working on a new chapter...

"I put millions of miles under my heels,
but still too close to you I feel."

A Song for a Heart

July 11, 2002

10 months after the terrorist attack on our country.
While I was playing on a beach in Galveston
Hours before Josh looked up at the stars and asked me to marry him.

My friend Lindsey turned a corner too fast and flipped her car. She was seventeen years old.

For the past two days, I’ve been trying to find the words to say on the 5th anniversary of her death. I still haven’t.

Lindsey and I weren’t best friends. We were running buddies in High School. Lindsey and I had both joined the Cross-Country team before it had been popular.
Before the guys had made a perfect score at District.
Before they had won second at State.
Before Cross –Country surpassed Basketball as ‘The Sport’ at our small East Texas High School.
Before all of that, Lindsey and I ran together.
She had asthma and could easily persuade me to stop for a break on our long runs down the country roads that surrounded our school. We would talk about stuff at school- classes and teachers. I also had the reputation of singing when I ran. It would keep our minds off of the long miles in front of and behind us. Lindsey would make requests and I would quickly try to remember whatever lines I could. A lot of times our conversations would drift to Christianity. Lindsey was extremely interested in the book of Revelations. She was a recent edition to the faith, so she was still perplexed by all the ‘cool Christian’ things that most young believers find incredibly interesting. Was the world really going to end? How was it all going to happen?
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t always a Christian. I wasn’t raised in the church, but as soon as I was saved, I became extremely involved. I was President of FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) in high school and everything that came with the title: I was pious yet approachable, I was Super Christian Girl.

This is the part where if my life were a movie, I would have found out how big of an impact I had on Lindsey’s life. I didn’t. I don’t know if she talked to me about these things because of who I was or if it was because she was truly interested. Either way, I was convinced that Lindsey was a member of the faith and bound for heaven one day.

But I wasn’t expecting that day.

July 13, 2002 was a blur. I had been on a family vacation with my father when Lindsey had taken the curve too fast. I arrived back to Livingston on the day of her funeral. My mother greeted me at the door, sat me down, and said that Lindsey’s funeral was in two hours. My clearest memory is of her mother. She was taking condolences, her head bent slightly as she mumbled a “thank you” to every passer-by. As I came to her, she grabbed on to my hand, lifted her eyes, and said ‘Thank you Clare, Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to her”.

Again, if life were a movie.

I don’t know why she chose me to say that to. I don’t know why she stopped and looked at me so intently, as if I had truly done something remarkable by coming to the funeral. Like I said, Lindsey and I were never extremely close. Sure, I had been the only white kid to go to her birthday party freshman year (Lindsey was Alabama-Coushatta) but that was more because I was excited to be invited to ANY birthday party.
I like to think it had something to do with our daily runs. Maybe, some of our conversations had changed Lindsey and she had commented to her mother. Maybe not. It scares me a little now to think about what Lindsey would think of me five years later. When I see Lindsey’s mom, I think of the responsibility my classmates and I were given that day, that we should achieve all the things that Lindsey could not. I would like to tell her that I still go on daily runs but have yet to find a better partner. I would tell her that I don’t have all the answers anymore but I am trying.

If only

“If you were with me tonight, I would sing to you just one more time. A song for a heart so big, God wouldn’t let it live”

Chapter 6
To love unconditionally

There is a world outside my window. The leaves are almost completely gone now affording me a clear view of the campus. There is a particularly beautiful building that sits across from my window, partially blocking my view of the hillside. It is the church. There are days when I catch myself watching it unconsciously, my eyes gazing over the tall spires that seem to burst from the building’s foundation. On this particular day, I am absorbed in the view of the old priest who had greeted me weeks ago. His presence had been much easier to dismiss that night. I have since seen him with many members of the church and am beginning to respect him, though I am quick to remind myself that it’s easier to create perspectives of people when we have yet to really know them. I have studied his quiet manner, his hearty handshakes and private chats. Today he is outside with a small group of college students. Church is far from a popular pastime in England and his congregation is even smaller than most. One of the students appears to be asking a question of grave importance and the Father is leaned towards him listening intently to every word, his face marked with the same concern he showed me that night.
Something is stirring within me and I can’t pinpoint its origin or meaning. My confession at the coffee shop was unexpected and has since had even wider results. I had never told anyone my entire story and the confession had freed me from the torment of guilt that had been living inside of me. I knew that another step of my forgiveness was sure to come. I had always believed that forgiveness was about oneself, that it was about regaining ownership over your own life and not letting another’s actions rule it. I had already completed this step of forgiveness. I couldn’t let the things that had happened between John, the Church, and I keep my life from moving forward.
But the second step still lingered.
I could move forward and live my own life but I was still bitter. I hated the subject of family or religion. I laughed scornfully at those who expressed a blind devotion to their supposed future and beliefs. I had been a witness to conversations with those who proclaimed a deep faith and yet couldn’t quote a single scripture. These people were the unaware targets of my attacks. I could quote scripture up and down, informing them on what their own denominations really believed. They were left helpless. I knew that I wasn’t helping anyone. These tirades only fueled my bitterness and mostly likely only fueled their blind belief.
Nothing benefits religion more than adversity.
All these thoughts didn’t answer the question as to why I was still sitting watching this church. I couldn’t get its steeple or its minister out of my mind. His words were stilling ringing and since then I had thought of asking God for guidance many times. I was nostalgic for the peace I had once found in his presence, but like the child that finds their parent’s deepest secrets: I couldn’t look him in the eye.
I could forgive everyone but I couldn’t forgive God.
I glanced to the church again but the priest was gone. When he had talked to me that night, I had wanted a great answer. I had been pondering my questions for months and his adage had seemed too quick and simple to be true.
I had coined a phrase when I was in the youth group that was used popularly within our church: There’s no gray in this Black & White. I had been professing my belief that there was no in-between when it came to God’s word. It is written in Revelations 3:16 that God will not tolerate the lukewarm. All these thoughts consumed my mind as I placed it down on my desk and admitted I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what to believe or what to think. I could walk back to the faith but that would mean a blind acceptance again; there was little room for intellectual thought within the church these days. I could forsake it all, but to believe nothing seemed a greater peril and sadness than to believe that the world was controlled by an entity I simply could not understand.
There had been something stirring within me since that night, and I now stood on a great precipice, contemplating a leap of faith.

Debate Exposes Doubt

"[If Christ] burst out from the cross, `My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation." --Life of Pi

An awesome review of an even better book-

http://www.amazon.com/Life-Pi-Yann-Martel/dp/B000KYAV7I

'If you have no doubt, you have knowledge- not faith'

Wonderfully Made


Throughout the writing of my blog, I have made it no secret of my fumbling within religion- specifically Christianity. I chose to become a Christian when I was 13 years old. I wasn’t raised in the church, unlike many of my friends. I am unsure if this has hindered or helped my beliefs, even though I know what I did was a conscious decision and I continue to stand behind it. With all of this in mind I've been thinking about something: someone made a comment on one of my earlier postings, and they wrote that I shouldn't look to others for my belief in God.
I understand this.
People break each other’s hearts everyday. The pain I have seen working in this family law office in the past two weeks has made me reconsider my choices for a family. I have seen people use children as instruments of revenge and these actions sicken me. Yet, I am reminded of something I told a friend once. My friend asked me how I was able to forgive a certain person in my life. I told my friend that I believed that there was a quality, a dignity, to people that existed and that I must respect whether they respect me or not. Forgiveness is about yourself, it’s about letting go of the other person’s control over your life. This is my way of forgiving. I believed, even before he told me, that he was sorry and didn’t know what damage his actions had caused. I had to believe that his actions were not the sum of his being and that there was a part of him that God loved and I must too. This is why I can’t be an atheist. I can’t believe there is nothing. I know that there is a soul in man that makes us higher than the animals.
This is also why I disagree with the comment on my blog.
I look to people to find God, because if we are made in his image then we are the only traces of his divinity on earth. When I am overwhelmed, I am reminded of the beautiful souls that reside in us all. People act in fear everyday because they do not understand the world they live in. When people act in fear they produce hate and evil; therefore, we must realize that we are the instruments of change in the world.
We can give love or we can give hate.
It is your choice.

Love is the truest thing we have on this earth; it is the closest to God we can be.

Josh says it's about unrequited homosexuality but I still love it anyway
For your delight- Dave Matthew's Band, #41:

Come see:
I swear by now (that) I'm playing time
I against my troubles (a battle to be won)
I'm coming slow but speeding

Do you wish a dance?
and while I'm in the front, the play on time is won
Oh, but the difficult is coming here
I will go in this way and find my own way out (away from you)
I won't tell you to be

But it's coming to much more: Me
(the end and beginning)

Come down, let the ghosts come back, reeling in you now (the ghosts of memories)
What if they came down crushing?
In the way I used to play for all of the loneliness that nobody....

Notice it now:
begging slow, I'm coming here

Only waiting

I wanted to stay
I wanted to play
I wanted to love you

I'm only this far and only tomorrow leads the way (the answer lies ahead)
I'm coming waltzing back and moving into your head

Please, I wouldn't pass this by (please) I wouldn't take any more than...

What sort of man goes by?
I will bring water
Why wont you ever be glad?
It melts into wonder

I came in praying for you

Why won't you run in the rain and play (and) let the tears (mine) splash all over you?

Chapter 5
A long way from that fool’s mistake

I suppose there are always conflicting accounts when it comes to any story of consequence. I am sure that if you were to ask John what happened he would state something about me not being satisfied in the relationship because I relied on him too much. There are always conflicting reports but there is also usually a bit of truth in each one. Here is mine:
“I met him when I was fifteen. I don’t know how to explain what it is like to meet the love of your life at that age. There was a moment of love at first sight, though I have since dismissed this notion. It wasn’t that I found him particularly handsome or breathtaking, he possessed a confidence and self-assurance there that made me thinks that he might actually be the best person that God ever created. It was like meeting the person you’ve always wanted to, before you knew who it was you were looking for. I was transfixed, a state that lasted for the next five years. Like a little girl dancing for her father, I was always interested in impressing John. I wanted to be his perfect girl. I suppose that my obsession placed a strain on him, to be the man that I believed he was but what he didn’t see was that there was no way I could ever think negatively of him. He was Jonathan, the beginning and end of my adolescent love. That is why I can’t understand November….
I paused to consider my next statement. There was a certain way that ugly truths must be said, and that is openly and deliberately.
“I can’t understand why I cheated on John, or what drove me to end the only thing on this earth I have ever known to be perfect. I suppose that five years of perfection had taken its toll and I wanted to know what it would be like to die in another’s arms.
“Something Corporate,” she comments on my use of the lyrics she had given me.
“Yes, but that’s what it was. I truly wanted something to die inside of me. I had been hurting for a long time and it was in ways that John either couldn’t or didn’t want to see. At the time, I didn’t know how to understand failure without it being full and complete. So I slept with someone else and immediately afterwards I knew that it was a mistake and I couldn’t tell Jonathan. If I told him, I knew it would kill him. I went on with my pain for the next couple of weeks, trying to think of how to overcome it without burdening him anymore with my sadness. I decided to take a pregnancy test when it had been over a month later and that is when it all began to come crashing down. John and I had begun sleeping together a couple of months earlier but I couldn’t stand the thought of a lifetime of not knowing who the father was.
I pause again to let the truth seep into the both of us.
“I…..yeah….received a….” It was so hard to say the word but I knew I had to press through this. I had never told anyone this entire story.
“I got an abortion.
I don’t know what Sarah’s eyes looked like because I couldn’t meet them.
“I went to the same clinic that John and I had put on our prayer list, the one that our church had picketed. It was a comfort in a way to think that they were now praying for me.”
“Things were becoming out of control and I wasn’t eating or sleeping anymore. I was completely overcome with my shame over my actions; I knew that I had to tell him. One night after a prayer meeting, I spilled my heart out to him, begging forgiveness and trying to find some sort of peace for my sins. He held me that night and told me that it was going to be alright. I believed him until a couple of days later when our preacher called me, he wanted to get together to talk. I didn’t know what he wanted, so I went up there. When he told me that John had told him about my abortion and that he wanted to pray for me, I lost it. I couldn’t believe that John had shared my secret, but it got worst. Soon other members of the church began to speak in hushed tones and watch me carefully. I realized that there had been a leak and others had found out what had happened. I couldn’t believe their reaction. These people who had claimed to have so much love were now turning their backs on me as though my sins were contagious. I was absolutely disgusted with the church and told John I thought so. But even though we had become strained, we were making it through. We had been in love for years, and it had never occurred to me that there was any other way to be.
“That is until he told me that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. He felt as though I had turned away from God and the church. He had been speaking with his parents and the pastor about our relationship and they had advised him to distance himself from me. I couldn’t believe their inability to forgive. I couldn’t believe that they felt as though they had a right to ask for alms from me, as though my abortion had been a direct act against them. I was lying on my floor, crying my heart out and they thought that I was nothing more than a dirty whore. He told me later that he wanted to come to me and save me but that he knew he couldn’t do anything for me. I still can’t believe it. Five years and he knows he can’t help me. That’s not what you do. You don’t just sit back because there’s nothing to do. You sit and you hold someone until things begin to get better, you don’t give up. So I walked away. I walked away from him, his family, and the church. The depth to which that belief was ripped out of me is incomprehensible and unexplainable…”
It took me a moment to realize that I had stopped talking. Sarah was watching me with a look of disbelief and amazement on her face, her mouth agape. Slowly she began to speak, “I never knew…Maria, you realize that you are amazing.”
I couldn’t hide my bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“You went through all of that and yet you are so…normal. I’m surprised you aren’t angrier.”
“I am angry. I am furious but the energy that it takes to show those emotions…I suppose I figure that they don’t deserve it,” I stared back into my cold latte, “Desmond Tutu said that forgiveness is about getting your own life back. For a long time I couldn’t even forgive myself for what happened. I felt that if I let myself off the hook that it would mean that I didn’t have a hand in what happened. I know that John is miserable and hurt and that I did that. I set the actions into motion. I know that but I also know if I don’t let myself be forgiven then I will never receive it.”
“What about the future? Do you think you and John will ever work it out?”
“Sarah, I don’t even know how to begin to ask myself that question. The disappointment and regret weigh down on me too much at times. Some days there isn’t enough liquor to make it disappear but other days I can find solace in the simple things. Sometimes when I sit on the hillside and smoke a cigarette, I can make myself believe that I am happier now. I can forget that I once had everything.”
“How do you find the energy to date other people, like Christopher, how did you get the courage to open yourself up?”
I laugh ruefully, “well I took a chance and when it fell apart there was a certain joy to it.”
She is looking at me perplexed as to how I could find such happiness in a breakup.
“You see, for once, it wasn’t my fault. It ended because he was the screwed up one, not me, and for that- I am thankful.”
Her laugh is hearty and exactly what is needed after our serious conversation. “I take back what I said about you being normal” she retorts with another laugh.
“Why do I hang out with you again?” I playfully shake my head, “Let’s get back to the dorms before you make me spill my heart out again.”