Last night, after school, I went for a cold walk as the sun went down.
I walked up my hill to the very top, and climbed the stairs of a house that is halfway constructed. I walked through vertical 2x4s marking future walls and I walked past piles of plywood, and I leaned out of the open gaps that will be windows. I found the mountains across the lake, and I found Rainier: breathless, cold, and lavender in the fading light. I thought about climbing, and I thought about cold, and I thought about unfinished buildings. I thought about saws splitting wood that came from the same tree, and of those boards being nailed down in locations far from one another. I thought about leaping, and I thought about flying, and I thought about falling, and I thought about being safe. I thought about past conversations on unfinished walls, and I thought about future families talking, eating, laughing, fighting in these presently plywood rooms.
And then I walked down another road, and I thought about feet being cold, and I saw a mother taking pictures of her babies in a stroller with a fancy camera, and I thought of happy families.
And I tried to follow the sunset over the other side of the hill, because the sun was setting now behind the other set of mountains, and so I ran because it was setting quickly, and the sky was already deep purples and oranges. I found another unfinished house, and I ran up the stairs to get as high as I could. I met the owner of the house on the way up, and he told me to be careful of the 2x4s sticking out over the third floor stairwell, and then he left. I thought of strangers, and I thought of how I must look to people I don't know, and I wondered if he would mind me being in his house if I was something other than a small female in a red wool coat.
I climbed over boards and plywood on the top floor, and leaned out of the vast hole that will eventually be an elegant window, and I offered myself to the air. And the mountains were dark silhouettes, and the city glimmered in the distance, and it was cold, and it was bright. I thought of frost, and how it glitters, and how it is cold, and how it makes things brittle. I thought of Christmas lights and how they feel like bars keeping me out of something this year. I thought of the way that things used to be, and how they have irrevocably changed. I thought of being afraid, and of being too small, and of spinning out of control. I hugged the unfinished wall, and thought of how the sun had already set by the time I climbed to my viewpoint; I had missed it going down, and was only seeing the fading colors of what had been a beautiful day. I looked down at the street, and looked at the sidewalk, and saw that it ended on either side of this halfway built house, and saw a gap of dirt where the path didn't connect. I missed things. I shivered and felt cold.
I climbed down, and went out front, and stood on the hard cold dirt where the sidewalk should have been. I picked up a scrap of wood and tried to etch my name in the ground. I thought of cement being poured, and my mark being hidden underneath, and of people forgetting, and of life moving on, and of people passing through, and of archeology, and of people discovering pieces of lives that have ended.
I walked home in the dark, and I wrote lyrics for a song. And I wished for days that had not already ended, and I wished for a home that was more future than past, and I wished for wings that could carry me away to mountain tops in the distance.
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Dec 5, 2008
Oct 15, 2008
Hope on a Narrow Strip of Beach
Some days, you wake up sort of feeling like a truck ran over you. Some days, life is so disorienting that you feel like you're drunk; you wander through them unfocused; clumsy; dizzy. Some days start with tears, and end with a migraine. Some days would leave you praying in the fetal position if not for God's helping hand and harness to pick you up and carry you through it.
Some days are great, and silly, and you can throw yourself into a happy new romance, and you can write fun happy blogs. Some days are full of purpose and meaning. Some days are just great, and you can be focused, and intentional, and giddy.
But sometimes life just gives you great big ups and great big downs all at the same time. And you can be a glowing ball of sparkles one day-- taking energy from anyone and everything-- and the next, feel so discouraged, and so defeated. I once found a poem by an ancient Greek female poet named Anyte that I used in a paper; it expresses the change from one to the other in a way that I think is beautiful:
No longer exalting in the swimming seas
Will I toss up my neck, rising from the depths,
Nor will I blow around the fine prow of a ship
Leaping and enjoying the figure-head.
But the sea's blue wetness threw me up on dry land
And I lie on this narrow strip of beach.
---------------
I am having a really hard day today. Today, I wish for an angel. I need something otherworldly to sit with me and hold me and explain what I find to be so confusing. I've felt such a intoxicating high for the last couple weeks, that this return to a darkened world is brutal. Once more, I find myself bound by doubt, by fear, by uncertainty, by cynicism, by anger, by sadness, by despair. I lie on this narrow strip of beach.
But I have to hope. Tonight in my grad school class-- before I left with the migraine-- someone confessed that they worried change was impossible: that what has been will be again, and that we can't ever really hope to climb out of the ugly behaviors that have resulted in so much abuse over the centuries-- that, essentially, we are destined to them. I raised my hand and begged, through the fog of a pounding head, for a different philosophy. I have to believe we can change. I have to believe that we can progress; that we can make decisions which take morality into consideration; I have to believe that we can get better. If I don't believe that, then I have no idea what my life is about.
At the end of my terrible day, I come back to this shred, this tiny shred, of hope, and pray that it inflates, and strengthens, and pulls me up yet again. I am fallen and broken-hearted, but plead with hope to pull me up yet again. I hope in a Savior. I hope for a tomorrow that is more innocent than today, and I hope that love- that redeeming kind of love- really CAN change people. I hope that I can be better. I hope that I can forgive. I hope that love is big enough to conquer ugliness. I hope that there ultimately is a bridge to freedom and redemption and a place where the highest of hopes can be realized.
I cling to that hope today with all that I have left.
Some days are great, and silly, and you can throw yourself into a happy new romance, and you can write fun happy blogs. Some days are full of purpose and meaning. Some days are just great, and you can be focused, and intentional, and giddy.
But sometimes life just gives you great big ups and great big downs all at the same time. And you can be a glowing ball of sparkles one day-- taking energy from anyone and everything-- and the next, feel so discouraged, and so defeated. I once found a poem by an ancient Greek female poet named Anyte that I used in a paper; it expresses the change from one to the other in a way that I think is beautiful:
No longer exalting in the swimming seas
Will I toss up my neck, rising from the depths,
Nor will I blow around the fine prow of a ship
Leaping and enjoying the figure-head.
But the sea's blue wetness threw me up on dry land
And I lie on this narrow strip of beach.
---------------
I am having a really hard day today. Today, I wish for an angel. I need something otherworldly to sit with me and hold me and explain what I find to be so confusing. I've felt such a intoxicating high for the last couple weeks, that this return to a darkened world is brutal. Once more, I find myself bound by doubt, by fear, by uncertainty, by cynicism, by anger, by sadness, by despair. I lie on this narrow strip of beach.
But I have to hope. Tonight in my grad school class-- before I left with the migraine-- someone confessed that they worried change was impossible: that what has been will be again, and that we can't ever really hope to climb out of the ugly behaviors that have resulted in so much abuse over the centuries-- that, essentially, we are destined to them. I raised my hand and begged, through the fog of a pounding head, for a different philosophy. I have to believe we can change. I have to believe that we can progress; that we can make decisions which take morality into consideration; I have to believe that we can get better. If I don't believe that, then I have no idea what my life is about.
At the end of my terrible day, I come back to this shred, this tiny shred, of hope, and pray that it inflates, and strengthens, and pulls me up yet again. I am fallen and broken-hearted, but plead with hope to pull me up yet again. I hope in a Savior. I hope for a tomorrow that is more innocent than today, and I hope that love- that redeeming kind of love- really CAN change people. I hope that I can be better. I hope that I can forgive. I hope that love is big enough to conquer ugliness. I hope that there ultimately is a bridge to freedom and redemption and a place where the highest of hopes can be realized.
I cling to that hope today with all that I have left.
Aug 17, 2008
Pieces
My heart is broken tonight.
Written 8/10/2005
Misery landing
Like a tip toe
Tittering softly
With satisfaction?
What a discouraging thing
To concede a victory
To Defeat. It
Grinds away with
An unceasing hum:
Droning and drilling
What feels like a gaping hole.
Scrape, scrape
Like so many layers of
Paint off a wall
Color after color falls away
Leaving a bleak gray wash
And discarded pieces of
A rainbow
On the floor.
This is something of my
Present heart.
Written 8/10/2005
Misery landing
Like a tip toe
Tittering softly
With satisfaction?
What a discouraging thing
To concede a victory
To Defeat. It
Grinds away with
An unceasing hum:
Droning and drilling
What feels like a gaping hole.
Scrape, scrape
Like so many layers of
Paint off a wall
Color after color falls away
Leaving a bleak gray wash
And discarded pieces of
A rainbow
On the floor.
This is something of my
Present heart.
Aug 10, 2008
?
Ack, a disclaimer, if you're transferring to this blog from Annie's blog, this is probably NOT the entry you want to read, go read the one before, go read "From the Traveling Archives," because that's much more in the funny stinky cheese vein than this one. If I could figure out how to temporarily pull this blog, I would, but I can't figure out how to do that without deleting it altogether. So-- read at your own risk I suppose. Or just read the one before. --Greta
I wrote a new song, and I liked it, and I used guitar parts that were completely different than anything I've played before, and I was excited about this new song and so I sent it to a few people. I sent it to a new friend because he's a good guitar player, and I wanted to share the guitar parts with someone who would understand about different guitar parts. He just called, but it was late so I didn't answer, but he left a message and in the message he said:
"I got your song. I really liked it. It was really sad. But I liked it."
And I suddenly remembered just how sad the song is, because it's about the hard things that have been happening, and I suddenly felt embarrassed because who wants to voluntarily accept that into their life? And I'd forgotten about how sad it is, because I've been practicing the new song so much, and working on the new guitar parts, so even though I sing the lyrics often, I've become somewhat detached, which is a good thing, because I sing about these sad things and the more I do, the less power they have over me, which is a good thing. But I'd forgotten that this new friend hasn't heard the song as often as I've sung it, and probably doesn't know that even though some things are really hard, I'm also still in a good mood a lot of the time. And I felt silly for sending it and embarrassed that I asked him to listen to these big words, when really I just wanted him to tell me that he liked the guitar parts. And then I felt embarrassed for sending it at all, because I suppose in a way I was fishing for a compliment, even if it was mainly just wanting to share a new discovery with a friend, but it probably seemed like fishing for a compliment, and that made me feel embarrassed.
And I wonder, I guess, if my life is just too sad for people right now, because I know that when friends are being good friends, they step in and they say, "I'm here for whatever you need," but some weights are big, and some times are just not convenient for other people to step in and help lift them, even if they say, "In the middle of the night, WHENEVER." And I don't want to ask people to do that if they're saying those things mostly to show that they love me, because actually asking them to "BE THERE" is a really big thing to ask. And even though I really like this new song, and I want to play it for people, and I was planning on playing it at the open mic near my house, I worry that every time I play it, people will think, "Wow. This girl's life sucks. She is really sad. I don't know if I want to be around someone with that kind of sadness."
And I'm writing this on this blog, and I feel embarrassed to splatter this all over this blog, because people read this blog from cities that I don't know people in, and maybe you'll think I'm a basket case, and what is wrong with our generation that we would be comfortable splattering our innermost thoughts and emotions on a publicly accessed internet site?? and why would I want to participate in something like that, and if what I'm worried about is sharing too much, then WHY AM I SHARING SO MUCH?
I think I want to know that people will still be there. I think I want to know that I'm not too much. I think I want to know that I'm not too sad. I want people to hear this song, and to be able to just enjoy it, and I feel embarrassed that I'm sad but I really like the words in this song, and I think it's a good song.
It's not healthy to ask for validation from strangers. And I know and comprehend, truly, that I am taken care of by an amazing Friend who is omnipresent, and ever so patient with my sighs and questions and grins and weepings, and that really is sufficiently sustaining. So. So I don't even know if I want comments on this blog, because they might make me feel embarrassed again that I've splattered and that I've leaned on people that maybe weren't asking for it, but if there are no comments, that might make me feel embarrassed too, that I'm too much, and quick go to another website, go to a funny blog, and no comments sort of leaves La Vie D'une Fille on an island and just silly in a way that isn't fun. And I'm good at being on islands, but I think I'd like company too, because I just want to hope that I'm not too much.
So?
What.
This is me. For better or worse. And I like this new song. And I think I'll sing it at the open mic, and I just won't tell them it's autobiographical, and if they figure out that it is, and it's too much for them, then they don't have to talk to me afterwards. And if this new friend thinks it's too much, then that's okay too because this is me. For better or worse. And all I can be in this moment is that.
So.
I'll sing my song.
I wrote a new song, and I liked it, and I used guitar parts that were completely different than anything I've played before, and I was excited about this new song and so I sent it to a few people. I sent it to a new friend because he's a good guitar player, and I wanted to share the guitar parts with someone who would understand about different guitar parts. He just called, but it was late so I didn't answer, but he left a message and in the message he said:
"I got your song. I really liked it. It was really sad. But I liked it."
And I suddenly remembered just how sad the song is, because it's about the hard things that have been happening, and I suddenly felt embarrassed because who wants to voluntarily accept that into their life? And I'd forgotten about how sad it is, because I've been practicing the new song so much, and working on the new guitar parts, so even though I sing the lyrics often, I've become somewhat detached, which is a good thing, because I sing about these sad things and the more I do, the less power they have over me, which is a good thing. But I'd forgotten that this new friend hasn't heard the song as often as I've sung it, and probably doesn't know that even though some things are really hard, I'm also still in a good mood a lot of the time. And I felt silly for sending it and embarrassed that I asked him to listen to these big words, when really I just wanted him to tell me that he liked the guitar parts. And then I felt embarrassed for sending it at all, because I suppose in a way I was fishing for a compliment, even if it was mainly just wanting to share a new discovery with a friend, but it probably seemed like fishing for a compliment, and that made me feel embarrassed.
And I wonder, I guess, if my life is just too sad for people right now, because I know that when friends are being good friends, they step in and they say, "I'm here for whatever you need," but some weights are big, and some times are just not convenient for other people to step in and help lift them, even if they say, "In the middle of the night, WHENEVER." And I don't want to ask people to do that if they're saying those things mostly to show that they love me, because actually asking them to "BE THERE" is a really big thing to ask. And even though I really like this new song, and I want to play it for people, and I was planning on playing it at the open mic near my house, I worry that every time I play it, people will think, "Wow. This girl's life sucks. She is really sad. I don't know if I want to be around someone with that kind of sadness."
And I'm writing this on this blog, and I feel embarrassed to splatter this all over this blog, because people read this blog from cities that I don't know people in, and maybe you'll think I'm a basket case, and what is wrong with our generation that we would be comfortable splattering our innermost thoughts and emotions on a publicly accessed internet site?? and why would I want to participate in something like that, and if what I'm worried about is sharing too much, then WHY AM I SHARING SO MUCH?
I think I want to know that people will still be there. I think I want to know that I'm not too much. I think I want to know that I'm not too sad. I want people to hear this song, and to be able to just enjoy it, and I feel embarrassed that I'm sad but I really like the words in this song, and I think it's a good song.
It's not healthy to ask for validation from strangers. And I know and comprehend, truly, that I am taken care of by an amazing Friend who is omnipresent, and ever so patient with my sighs and questions and grins and weepings, and that really is sufficiently sustaining. So. So I don't even know if I want comments on this blog, because they might make me feel embarrassed again that I've splattered and that I've leaned on people that maybe weren't asking for it, but if there are no comments, that might make me feel embarrassed too, that I'm too much, and quick go to another website, go to a funny blog, and no comments sort of leaves La Vie D'une Fille on an island and just silly in a way that isn't fun. And I'm good at being on islands, but I think I'd like company too, because I just want to hope that I'm not too much.
So?
What.
This is me. For better or worse. And I like this new song. And I think I'll sing it at the open mic, and I just won't tell them it's autobiographical, and if they figure out that it is, and it's too much for them, then they don't have to talk to me afterwards. And if this new friend thinks it's too much, then that's okay too because this is me. For better or worse. And all I can be in this moment is that.
So.
I'll sing my song.
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